


Reconstruction Blues

by CyberMum, fmlyhntr, jamelia116, juli17ptf, Penny_P, Rocky_T, SeemaG, Voyager_Virtual Season_7-5_Staff_Writers (jamelia116)



Series: Voyager Virtual Season 7.5 [33]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Return
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 05:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 54,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20989433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberMum/pseuds/CyberMum, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fmlyhntr/pseuds/fmlyhntr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamelia116/pseuds/jamelia116, https://archiveofourown.org/users/juli17ptf/pseuds/juli17ptf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penny_P/pseuds/Penny_P, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocky_T/pseuds/Rocky_T, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeemaG/pseuds/SeemaG, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamelia116/pseuds/Voyager_Virtual%20Season_7-5_Staff_Writers
Summary: Back in the Alpha Quadrant, their status settled, the crew appears poised to scatter to the winds. But the ties of family, forged after eight years of life aboardVoyager,are not easily forgotten.This group story was written by many members of our staff and compiled by Rocky in December, 2002.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> "Reconstruction Blues" sets the stage for many of our characters as they prepare for their next phase of life. (This is the first of several episodes which will sometimes overlap, since key events take place at the same time in different parts of the galaxy. Don't worry—we'll explain it all as we go along.)
> 
> Time frame: March 2380 to January 10, 2381
> 
> Location: Various parts of the Federation & immediate vicinity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way: the names of most of our staff are listed in the chapter headers, but this is not completely accurate. It seems to be a quirk of the AO3 posting system. The name of the actual contributor of each section appears in an end note to each chapter. 
> 
> The entire group worked together to develop the story lines for "Reconstruction Blues," as we did for every episode of our series.

**Prologue**:  
  
**Utopia Planitia Shipyards, Mars—_October 1, 2380, Stardate 56750.6_**  
  
The shipyards at Utopia Planitia were a vast hive of activity. At any given time, between ten and fifteen ships could be found in various stages of construction. Major ship refits were occasionally done at the Mars facility—particularly ones involving the replacement of aging warp drives—but maintenance-related activities were mostly shunted to McKinley Station. Utopia Planitia, long a center of research and development, was in the business of producing brand new starships, to augment and increase the size of the fleet.  
  
Captain Kathryn Janeway watched as the ensign's hands flew smoothly over his controls, guiding the small shuttle easily among the never-ending stream of support ships and repair pods. At regular intervals they passed some large vessel, covered with the tentacles of supply lines and power cables. Idly, Janeway wondered how the shuttle pilot was able to navigate in the absence of stars, then chided herself for her foolishness. Even in space, courses were set by computer, by mathematical precision. But still...  
  
_All I need is a tall ship and a star to steer by._ The feeling of wonder, the thrill of exploration evoked by those words, could not be denied.  
  
Janeway glanced over at her companion. Admiral Hayes sat relaxed, a PADD on his lap. He looked up to meet her eyes and smiled.  
  
"Almost there, Captain."  
  
Janeway smiled back, at what she hoped was the message implicit in those words. It had been nearly a year since _Voyager's_ triumphant return. Almost immediately, it seemed, the excitement of their homecoming had given way to the slowly turning wheels of bureaucracy, to review boards and talk of court-martials, prosecutions, and pardons, and finally, the crew—together for eight years—going their separate ways.  
  
Janeway herself had been given an Earth-bound assignment, to teach at the Starfleet Academy for a period of "six months," according to Hayes, while he and the rest of the brass figured out just what to do with her. Janeway could appreciate his quandary. In the eyes of the public she was a hero, but to many of her fellow officers—and more importantly, her superiors—she was a maverick who couldn't quite be trusted to operate within the confines of the chain of command.  
  
The six months had already stretched to eight, with no end in sight, no official word yet from HQ. Janeway had to admit she found the teaching enjoyable, the interaction with her students rewarding, but part of her yearned to return to space. In the last few months that yearning had increased, become a palpable ache. Despite the pleasures of living on Earth, of being close to Chakotay as he completed his degree and began his own academic career, something was missing.  
  
Then, unobtrusively, almost casually, a communiqué had arrived from the Commander-In-Chief, asking her to report to Utopia Planitia. No further details were given. Janeway had heard the rumors—that the team at the Warp Propulsion Lab had finally made progress on the transwarp drive; that a prototype had been developed and tested; that a mission was already being planned to take advantage of the almost unlimited potential of transwarp and explore the far reaches of the galaxy. Her sources of information were better than most; she knew how much was fact and how much fiction. But nothing had been confirmed. Until now.  
  
The shuttle banked sharply and entered an enormous chamber, set apart from the rest of the shipyard. A slender ship was anchored there, its elongated, spoon-shaped saucer section rising gracefully from its midsection. Twin warp nacelles were attached to the aft section of the ship, with a third nacelle set perpendicular to the others. Whether it was a trick of the light, Janeway could not say, but it almost appeared as though the ship shifted restlessly beneath the cables tethering it to the dock, as if it strained to be free to soar among the stars.  
  
The shuttle approached the vessel from the starboard side, skimming across the large hull. Janeway leaned forward in anticipation, and her breath caught sharply as the bold lettering came into view.  
  
_U.S.S. Voyager II NCC-75700._  
  
Hayes hadn't failed to notice her reaction. "This is the latest vessel of the enhanced Intrepid Class. Longer and more powerful than the older ships of that type, and as you've no doubt guessed from the additional nacelle, capable of transwarp." He gestured at the ship through the viewscreen. "She's a beauty, isn't she?"  
  
Janeway nodded slowly, never once taking her eyes off the ship. "She certainly is." With an effort, she turned to the Admiral. "Of course, it seems a bit strange seeing a ship with that name in the Alpha Quadrant."  
  
Hayes laughed. "I agree. Which is why this beauty isn't going to be here much longer, not much past the time it takes to finish getting her ready for her great adventure." He glanced at her expectantly. "So, Kathryn, what do you think? Ready for another mission?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Rocky


	2. Stardate 56223.5  (Act 1)

**\--Act 1: March through May, 2380\--**  
  
  
**Student Dormitories, University of Chicago—_March 23, 2380, Stardate 56223.5_**  
  
Chakotay wearily set down his PADD and flexed his shoulders up, forward and back. The first third of his dissertation was complete, and it was time for a break. True to the ancient saying, March had indeed come in like a lion. The lingering chill of a harsh Chicago winter seeped through the walls of the students' quarters despite the temperature controls. He shivered involuntarily and crossed the small room to the replicator, from which he extracted a large mug of hot tea. He clasped his hands around the mug to warm them and stood at the large window for a while, letting his mind rest and wander. The grassy quadrangle below bore signs of late winter: tiny, bold patches of snow surviving defiantly in shady nooks. The trees, however, had small swellings on the tips of their branches. Spring was most certainly on its way, but the cold made it feel as if winter would never end.  
  
His impatience with the weather fed another growing irritation; despite his fascination with anthropology and archaeology, the subjects of his dual doctorate, he faced another two, perhaps three more months to obtain the degree he was determined to have. He sighed and moved away from the window.  
  
A doctorate certainly wasn't achieved overnight, he reminded himself, but took years of dedicated effort—effort which he'd already invested. He was very fortunate that all he had standing between himself and the degree was the dissertation—the research had already been completed on Voyager. Even if he wasn't genuinely interested in his topic, this was certainly preferable to contemplating the blank walls of a prison cell for 18 months—which is what would have happened had the Presidential pardon not gone through. Still, he longed to be doing something else, something vigorous. Something to challenge his body as well as his mind.  
  
He sighed again as he thought of the years which had elapsed since his Academy days—his earliest assignments aboard Federation starships, the daring raids with his Maquis cell, then Voyager's adventures in the Delta Quadrant. That part of his life was over. He had left Starfleet behind twice now, but this time it was final.  
  
Kathryn crept into his thoughts. During the final work on the dissertation, he had suggested remaining at the university during the week instead of transporting home each evening, and she had reluctantly agreed. They could be together on weekends; a practical but lonely solution which would enable him to drive towards completion in a timely manner. Only two more days till he could hold her in his arms again—it was certainly something to look forward to.  
  
His comm unit beeped. He smiled when he saw who it was. "Kathryn! I was just thinking about you!"  
  
_"Aren't you supposed to be working?" _she said teasingly, though he could see she was pleased.  
  
"Believe me, I'm working very hard," he reassured her.  
  
_"I'm glad to hear that,"_ she said, giving him her 'captain's glare.' _"No slacking off, mister, if you know what's good for you."_  
  
"Yes, ma'am," he said with a salute, nearly upsetting his mug of tea. He hastily grabbed a napkin. "Is that what you say to your students?"  
  
_"I don't have to,"_ she said smugly. _"They wouldn't dream of being slackers."_  
  
"Got them beaten into submission already?" he nodded sagely. "I'm not surprised."  
  
She chuckled. _"Seriously, Chakotay, they're a good bunch. Lively, inquisitive—they'll all make fine officers one day."_  
  
"It sounds like you're enjoying yourself."  
  
"I am, I really am." She paused. _"You know, when Admiral Hayes first brought up the idea of teaching at the Academy, I had my doubts. I didn't expect him to give me another ship right away—I don't even know if I wanted one, or at least not right away. But I never envisioned myself in the classroom."_  
  
"Where did you see yourself?" he asked curiously.  
  
_"Scientific research,"_ she said promptly. _"The data we brought back from the Delta Quadrant is enough to keep entire teams of scientists busy for years."_  
  
"And you thought you'd be one of them. Well, I'm sure you will be called in for consultations from time to time."  
  
_"It's already begun,"_ she said. _"I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon at the Lunar Observatory, to meet with Dr. Haydn."_  
  
His eyebrows rose. "Dr. Alex Haydn? Of the Haydn Solar Genesis Theorem?"  
  
_"The one and the same."_  
  
Chakotay whistled. "You're moving in pretty rarefied circles, Kathryn."  
  
_"Not bad for a starship captain,"_ she agreed. _"It beats lecturing about supernovae at the Federation Geographic and Astronometric Society."_ She looked at something outside his field of vision. _"Chakotay, I've got to run. I've got a class in a few minutes. But I just wanted to call and say I miss you."_  
  
"I miss you, too, Kathryn. But I'll be seeing you this weekend."  
  
_"I know. Still..." she held out her hand._  
  
He pressed his to the screen, wishing he could touch her. "I'll call you tomorrow, darling. I love you."  
  
She smiled. _"Bye."_ The screen went dark.  
  
Chakotay glanced at the PADD-laden desk and heaved a sigh. He sat down and took a sip of his now-cold tea. He picked up the list of comments from his advisor, Dr. Zaji, and resumed work on the second third of the dissertation, "A Study of the Rubber Tree People of Central America: The Sky Spirits," grateful once again that he had made good use of his limited spare time in the DQ. Without that advantage, to have arrived at this stage would have taken another year—or longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Soquilii9


	3. Stardate 56229.7

  
**Parade Grounds, Starfleet Academy, San Francisco—_March 25, 2380, Stardate 56229.7_**  
  
"Cadets," the voice of the Commandant thundered across the stadium, "Dismissed."  
  
With these words, Parents Weekend at Starfleet Academy officially began. The disciplined lines of Starfleet cadets collapsed into chaos as the students dispersed willy-nilly. Some headed for the exit, some for the stairs leading to the stands and some seemed to wander aimlessly around the field. March was going out like a lamb, and the unexpectedly mild day seemed to give everyone a case of spring fever. Cadets and parents alike moved without hurry, as if determined to enjoy the sunshine.  
  
In the stands, Samantha Wildman tightened her grip on her husband's hand without taking her eyes off her daughter. Below, Naomi's golden hair was easy to find in the crowd as she made her way toward her parents. Sam watched the young woman move confidently, pausing to exchange a word with another cadet before continuing on. Naomi had been enrolled at the Academy less then ninety days, but she had already acquired a new poise. "Oh, Gres," Sam said. "Look at her. She's all grown up. She's not my baby anymore."  
  
He squeezed her hand briefly. "She'll always be your baby. Just don't tell her that today. I don't think she'd appreciate it."  
  
Sam smiled, and together they turned and made their way down the steps to the spot Naomi had suggested as a meeting place. Parents Weekend at Starfleet Academy always began with a dress parade by the cadet corps. When Samantha had been a plebe, she had forgotten to arrange a meeting place in advance, and it had taken over an hour find her parents. This time, she had been smart enough to make arrangements. Next year—Sam decided she wasn't going to think about that yet. Right now, all she wanted was a hug from her daughter.  
  
She didn't have to wait long. Almost as soon as her feet left the stone steps and touched natural grass, Sam was nearly run over by a blonde streak that shouted, "Mom!" just before wrapping her in a bear hug. Eyes closed, Samantha returned the embrace and tried to commit the feeling to memory. Her daughter had grown—suddenly she was taller than Sam—and she had clearly grown up as well. Whatever her calendar age, by Ktarian standards, Naomi was an adult, and it showed. Sam found that realization both daunting and comforting.  
  
Then Naomi pulled away to hold Greskrendtregk just as enthusiastically. "Look at that," she said, lightly touching the shiny new third pip on her father's collar. "Looks good, Dad."  
  
"Thanks." Heedless of Naomi’s dignity, Greskrendtregk put an arm around her and tucked her close. "So do you."  
  
Naomi smiled widely. "You always said you hated dress uniforms, Mom, and now I know why. They're such a pain. But they do look sharp, don't they?"  
  
"I don't think your father was talking about the uniform, but yes, they do." Samantha still couldn't stop staring at her daughter. It wasn't just the physical development that was noticeable. Naomi had acquired a confidence that seemed to radiate from her, as if from some hidden warp core.  
  
Before Sam could think of something to say, she realized that a young human cadet was standing awkwardly to one side. Like Naomi, he wore the hash marks of a first year midshipman; and like Naomi, he was blond and attractive. He cleared his throat, and Naomi suddenly noticed him. "Oh, good. Mom, Dad, this is my friend Griff Harley. Griff, these are my parents, Lieutenant Commander Greskrendtregk and Lieutenant Wildman."  
  
Griff straightened immediately. "It's a pleasure to meet you both."  
  
Greskrendtregk smiled. "Oh, yes, Naomi's mentioned you. You were in the same temporal mechanics class."  
  
Sam watched the young man's face light up when he realized Naomi had spoken of him. "Yes, sir. I don't think I would have passed it without her help."  
  
"And we're also both on the Archery Team," Naomi added. "Griff's much better than I am, though."  
  
"You've improved a lot," he said quickly, and looked from Greskrendtregk to Sam. "Really. Considering that she'd never been in competition before, it's amazing."  
  
Naomi looked pleased, and Sam understood. Participation in some athletic endeavor was required of all cadets, and Ktarians were almost always at a disadvantage in that regard. Competitive sports were not part of the Ktarian culture; and in any event, Naomi never had the opportunity to participate in any group sports on _Voyager_. During their last year in the Delta Quadrant, though, Tuvok had had the foresight to give Naomi instruction in Archery. Still, she was a comparative novice, especially in relation to her teammates. "I'm sure you've been a big help to her," Sam said.  
  
To her secret amusement, the young man blushed scarlet, and his gray eyes took on an unmistakable puppy-dog expression as he looked at Naomi. He was rather sweet, Sam decided. She caught her husband's eye and he smiled in return. He, too, realized that Naomi had made a conquest. She wondered if Naomi knew it.  
  
"Are Neelix and Sarexa here?" Naomi asked, looking around. "I promised to introduce Griff to them."  
  
"We're meeting them later," Samantha said. "We wanted to have a chance to talk with you first." She smiled at her daughter's friend, wondering just how much of a friend he was. "Are your parents here yet?"  
  
He shook his head. "Not yet, ma'am. Their transport got held up at Deep Space Six. They're coming from Osurah II."  
  
"Well," Greskrendtregk began, but Naomi suddenly brightened and thrust her hand in the air.  
  
"Icheb!" she called, waving frantically. "Over here!"  
  
Sam noted that Griff's mouth tightened slightly before assuming a forced smile. Turning, she saw Icheb, flanked by Owen Paris on one side and Alicia Paris and a female cadet on the other. The Paris family smiled in unison and came in their direction.  
  
"Who is that with them?" Greskrendtregk asked. "Is she Deltan?"  
  
"Yes. Her name's Mialla. She's on the swim team with Icheb."  
  
Greskrendtregk looked over Naomi's head to catch Sam's attention, and then raised his eyebrows. The complete absence of inflection in Naomi's voice was a dead giveaway—Naomi didn't like Cadet Mialla.  
  
Sam looked again at the young woman whose shoulder touched Icheb's as they walked. Like all female Deltans, she was tall, graceful and bald. The lack of hair only emphasized the perfect shape of her head and her large, dark eyes. Even though Deltans were required to take suppressants to reduce their natural pheromones, Sam fancied she detected something unusual. It could be that Mialla's suppressants were not 100% effective, which sometimes happened, or it could be that Sam's mind was filling in a gap it didn't expect to find. She glanced at Greskrendtregk to see his reaction. Sure enough, his nose was twitching, a sure sign that he, too, noticed something, which meant the suppressants were probably not working correctly. He realized she was studying him and shrugged ruefully.  
  
"Lieutenant Wildman," Icheb said as the Paris contingent drew close. He seemed unaffected by the Deltan cadet. "It is good to see you again. And you, sir."  
  
"You're looking well, Icheb," Sam said, and it was true. As introspective as ever, Icheb nevertheless conveyed the impression of a happy young man. It was also true that his notable efforts on the swim team—apparently the Brunali physiology was perfect for the butterfly stroke, and Icheb was setting records every time he dove into the pool—had enhanced his physique. Old married woman though she was, Sam could appreciate why Mialla was clinging to Icheb's arm possessively. "I hear congratulations are in order, to you and your team."  
  
Owen Paris beamed. "Yes, the Academy won the FCAA swim meet for the first time in forty years."  
  
"It was a team effort," Icheb said earnestly. "Mialla—oh, I forgot." He quickly introduced Mialla to Greskrendtregk and Samantha. "Mialla was a team captain this year."  
  
"Then congratulations to you, too," Samantha said.  
  
"Thank you." Mialla spoke with the same slight accent of all Deltans speaking Standard. She fixed her gaze on Icheb, and the pheromone level increased perceptibly. "He's right; it was a team accomplishment."  
  
"We will see you at the restaurant, won't we?" Alicia Paris asked Sam. "I'm counting on a mini-reunion for our _Voyager_ alumnae."  
  
Sam smiled slightly. As a mother, she recognized the hidden meaning behind Alicia's innocent wording—she wanted to make it clear to Mialla that dinner was to be a family function, and not one at which the girl would be comfortable. "Absolutely. Ambassador Neelix and his wife would never forgive us if we missed them."  
  
"Oh. Mother, I forgot to tell you I invited Mialla to join us," Icheb said. "Her parents were unable to make the trip to Earth."  
  
Alicia's smile seemed only slightly forced. "Of course."  
  
"Griff is going to join us too," Naomi said quickly. "His parents aren't going to arrive until tomorrow."  
  
From the look on Cadet Harley's face, Sam guessed he hadn't been aware of his invitation. She also guessed he didn't mind. Icheb, on the other hand, frowned slightly, but he said nothing.  
  
No one said anything, and the silence was suddenly awkward. "Commander, Lieutenant," Owen Paris said a little too heartily, "I haven't congratulated you on your new posting."  
  
Sam bit her lip. This wasn't how she and Greskrendtregk had intended to break the news.  
  
"New posting?" Naomi turned to her father.  
  
"We were just about to tell you," Greskrendtregk said. "Your mother and I have been transferred to Deep Space Twelve."  
  
Owen's face reddened. "Put my foot in it, didn't I?"  
  
"Deep Space Twelve is in the Gamma quadrant." Icheb looked at Samantha with confusion, as if he didn't quite believe what he had heard. "On the other side of the Bajoran wormhole."  
  
"I know where it is," Naomi snapped, but she recovered her composure at once. "That's, uh, big news."  
  
"It's a real honor," Owen assured her. "Admiral Ross is demanding Starfleet's finest for the inaugural crew."  
  
Naomi's smile was weak, as was her voice. "That's wonderful. When do you leave?"  
  
"Next Tuesday," Gres said.  
  
Naomi suddenly looked miserable and very young, and Sam had to stifle an impulse to stroke her daughter's hair.  
  
There was another uncomfortable silence, this time broken by Alicia Paris. "We were just about to tour the new library. Cadet—Griff, is it?—why don't you join us." She smiled at Samantha. "You can catch up with us later."  
  
Samantha gave Cadet Harley credit for perception, for after a quick, worried glance at Naomi, he nodded immediately. "Cadet Griffin Harley, ma'am. And it would be my pleasure."  
  
As Alicia bundled the Paris party off, Cadet Mialla called over her shoulder, "It was nice to meet you."  
  
"Icheb's girlfriend seems, uh, very nice," Greskrendtregk said, and Sam winced. That was not the way to ease into a difficult family discussion.  
  
"She's not his girlfriend. She just wants to be. Even if she has to dilute her suppressants to do it." Naomi's mouth set in a flat line, the way it always did when she was upset. "So. Does everyone know about this new assignment but me?"  
  
"Admiral Paris hardly constitutes 'everyone.' " Samantha was irritated by Naomi's tone. "We wanted to tell you first, but keep in mind that Headquarters just told _us_."  
  
"You must have known this was coming." Naomi looked from one parent to another, her gaze accusing them of silence, and conspiracy, and who knew what else.  
  
Greskrendtregk suddenly looked miserable, and Sam felt a flare of anger. The poor man was constantly fighting his own guilt about being absent during Naomi's childhood—as if it were his fault. This had to stop, and stop now. "We applied for the positions last month," Sam said coolly. "We just heard yesterday that we had been accepted. The competition for this posting has been fierce. You should be proud that your father was selected."  
  
"And your mother," he added.  
  
"You're going to the other side of the wormhole. If anything happens to it, you'll be decades away."  
  
Naomi folded her arms across her chest with a maximum of drama.  
  
Samantha knew her daughter had intended that comment to be a shaft to the heart. Instead, she almost laughed. "Naomi, you of all people, should realize that Starfleet has faster-than-warp drive now. We brought it to them, with _Voyager_."  
  
"But things can go wrong." Naomi glared at her mother. "You know they can."  
  
"That's the risk of being in Starfleet," Greskrendtregk said firmly. "If things do go wrong, we cope. If we can't, we don't belong in the uniform."  
  
His tone was gentle, but Naomi's head jerked slightly at the rebuke. "But it's not fair. We've only just got back together, and you're leaving me alone."  
  
"You won't be alone," Sam reminded her. "You've got Icheb here at the Academy, and Neelix and Sarexa will always be there for you. And I suspect Alicia Paris would love to see more of you."  
  
"You've got everyone from _Voyager_," Gres added. "Plus, it's not like we would see each other that often anyway. Even if we were on Earth, you would be pretty busy for the next few years."  
  
Naomi's frown showed that her father's point hit home. Both she and Icheb were going to have to remain as full time students for the entire summer session in order to advance with the rest of their respective classes in the autumn semester. The Academy had strict rules limiting visitation and time spent off-campus for underclassmen. There would be little opportunity to see her parents unless they signed on as faculty. Naomi was constructing her own life now, one which moved her out of the family nest.  
  
Finally, Naomi said quietly, "You're right. But it feels so strange, like I have to start over, somehow. Is it always like this, after a long mission? Do you always feel alone?"  
  
"Nothing stays the same forever," Gres told her. "Not even for civilians. The trick is to find your anchor, build around that, and let everything else sort itself out. Your mother is my anchor; and nothing can ever change that, no matter how far apart we may be. Now that you're an adult, you'll find your own anchor. And I'm willing to bet it won't be your parents. That's part of growing up."  
  
Samantha studied her daughter as she considered these words. To her relief, Naomi nodded. "I guess you're right. But—it's okay if you two are still my anchors for a while longer?"  
  
Gres hugged her. "Of course. You'll always be our girl."  
  
"You'll at least be back for Parents Weekend next year, right?"  
  
"Umm," Gres looked to Samantha for help.  
  
"We probably won't be able to make it next year, honey." Samantha gave in to her instincts and let her hand stroke Naomi's hair. "You see, that's when the baby is due."  
  
Naomi's eyes grew large. "A baby? You're going to have a baby?" Then her face brightened with delight and she hugged Samantha enthusiastically. "That's wonderful! Why didn't you tell me right away? Is it a boy or a girl? Does anyone else know?"  
  
"It's too soon to tell. I'll write you as soon as we know." Sam couldn't help grinning. Until now, she hadn't realized how nervous she had been about breaking this news. "And other than the Doctor, no one else knows. We wanted to tell you first."  
  
"Well, come on!" Grabbing Sam's hand, Naomi began to lead her across the stadium field. "We have to find Icheb and the Parises. And wait until Neelix hears!"  
  
Smiling, Samantha tightened her grip on her daughter's hand and reached to clasp her husband's.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Penny


	4. Stardate 56260.2

**ShahKar, Vulcan—_April 5, 2380, Stardate 56260.2_**  
  
Carefully, Tuvok set the young plant, newly repotted in the special bark he had brought with him from Earth, inside a support frame before carrying it to the tree sheltering his most prized orchids. He studied the tree's twisting branches for several minutes before selecting one which promised to support the young plant properly, where it would be shaded from the harshest rays of the noon sun while still receiving good light during the day beneath the maze of leathery leaves tufting out of the tree's uppermost branches.  
  
Stepping three paces back, Tuvok looked over his plant collection again with a critical eye before deciding to switch the locations of two of the specimens, refining the pattern of plants against tree branches. As important as proper physical conditions were to the healthy growth of orchids, Tuvok also believed it was essential that they be arranged to form a visual composition which was aesthetically pleasing to the eye.  
  
Moving two paces to the right and three more back in order to change his point of view, Tuvok again tried to determine whether all the plants would receive the right balance of light and shadow for optimum growth. The new one was placed well, but it could create too much of a shadow onto one of the older plants hanging lower in the tree. Perhaps if that one were moved to the other branch, towards the left...  
  
"Tuvok. There is a communication for you from Starfleet Academy."  
  
Tuvok turned slowly towards the courtyard doorway. Although T'Pel stood in deep shadow, she was backlit by the light shining from within the passageway behind her. Her eyes, barely visible to him, softly gleamed in her face. Their eyes met only briefly, but it was all either needed to communicate that both of them had been expecting this call for some time. Although both of them knew dozens of people at Starfleet Academy, thanks to Tuvok's past assignment there, only one person was likely to desire a conversation with Tuvok through subspace.  
  
With a barely perceptible nod, Tuvok acknowledged his wife's beckoning and strode across the courtyard, gently rubbing his hands together to dislodge any remaining traces of the potting bark. Fortunately, the bark was a very clean substance compared to others used in horticultural pursuits. As Tuvok passed T'Pel, he allowed the palms of his hands to brush softly against her upper arms, as if to compensate for the sudden breaking of their gaze.  
  
Tuvok sat down before the terminal and tapped the controls to open the channel. The screen flickered to reveal his caller. "Good day, Captain. It is good to speak to you again."  
  
_"Tuvok! You certainly look well rested..."_  
  
Tuvok cocked an eyebrow, anticipating what she really wanted to say in that slight hesitation, but choosing to ignore it by responding to the comment at face value. "Indeed, I am well-rested, Captain. You look very well yourself. Teaching at the Academy appears to agree with you. I trust your students are not causing you undue difficulty."  
  
_"Not at all. They're an absolutely marvelous group of students—challenging in the way they put their questions sometimes, but so intelligent and gifted I feel privileged to teach them. Frankly, they're often the ones teaching me!"_  
  
"I often found that to be the case when I was an instructor there."  
  
_"Are you interested in coming back to teach this semester? I'd be happy to put in a good word for you with Commandant Richie."_  
  
Tuvok glanced at his wife, who was standing in the doorway of the study, out of Janeway's visual field, but able to hear every word with ease. "Thank you, Captain. I will take the offer under advisement."  
  
The slender figure on the screen leaned further forward, her left hand twitching upwards for moment before returning to rest upon her right hand again. Tuvok was certain she'd had the impulse to touch him on the arm, as she was wont to do on _Voyager_ at odd times during their journey homeward. A wry smile spread across her face. _"Your advice is something I always would want, Tuvok. You know that, I hope."_  
  
Tuvok nodded slightly to acknowledge the implicit compliment. "And the comman... And Chakotay. How is his dissertation progressing at the University of Chicago?"  
  
_"Very well, Tuvok. Very well. And T'Pel and the rest of your family are all doing very well, too, I hope? But I didn't open a channel from Earth to Vulcan to exchange social pleasantries, you know."_  
  
"I know."  
  
_"Well? Have you decided when you're coming back from leave?"_  
  
He hesitated, meeting his wife's gaze for a second before responding to Captain Janeway's question. "I have not yet decided when to return. Or, for that matter, if I would wish to return to active duty at all at this stage in my life."  
  
A shadow crossed Janeway's face. _"Tuvok, I wish I had more details about my next assignment. I'd share them if I did. As of yet, Admiral Hayes has been maintaining a very mysterious 'We'll see' attitude whenever I send out feelers about what he might have in mind for me. I'm sure he does have something specific in mind, and that it's a ship. I know what ship I'd _like_ to be offered, but there's nothing definite yet. However, no matter what I'm doing—whether it's replacing Picard on the _Enterprise_ or taking command of a small science vessel—I want you there at my side as my first officer."_  
  
Tuvok leaned back on his chair and said softly, "I am honored by your regard for my abilities, Captain, although many officers are just as qualified for the position and would be eager to serve with you."  
  
_"It wouldn't be the same, Tuvok."_  
  
"It never is the same, from one tour of duty to the next."  
  
Janeway's eyes flicked down a moment before returning to gaze through the screen as if they were separated by only a desk rather than vast light years. _"That goes without saying, Tuvok. But I think you understand my reasons without my needing to spell them all out."_  
  
He did, indeed. The command team would necessarily be very different on any future voyages of exploration Captain Kathryn Janeway might take. At one time, Tuvok would not have needed to mull over any such offer from his captain, but that was before he had spent eight years apart from T'Pel.  
  
"I do understand your reasons, as I think you do my own for hesitating to respond in the affirmative to your request. If your next assignment is one in which a certain civilian comparative sociologist of our mutual acquaintance may participate, I will accept your offer to become your executive officer with pleasure. However, I will not risk another long separation from my wife if it is at all possible to prevent it. Since I suspect that you already would have mentioned it if you could offer T'Pel such an opportunity, then I continue to be unable to commit to a position as your first officer at this time."  
  
The captain heaved a deep sigh, smiling sadly. _"I was afraid that would be your answer. You're right, of course. I'm not in a position to offer anything to T'Pel right now. Unfortunately, I've been told off the record there are many deserving Starfleet officers with credentials much like T'Pel's who have earned a chance to serve under my command. I don't want to hold out false hope to you—unless T'Pel would be willing to join Starfleet herself, of course!"_  
  
Tuvok turned his hand over, palm up, and gestured to his wife to join him at the terminal to respond to Janeway's comment herself. Leaning over Tuvok's shoulder, T'Pel said, "As a matter of fact, Captain, we have discussed this option. Both of us agree I am a little too advanced in age to become one of your students at the Academy, even if I so wished."  
__  
"I'm sure we could manage to pull a few strings to avoid your having to attend any classes, T'Pel! But I do understand. I promise I'll keep up the pressure to have you come along with us, no matter what the assignment is! In the meantime, it's lucky you have so much accumulated leave time, Tuvok."  
  
"It was indeed, although good planning had more to do with it than luck." Tuvok controlled his reaction to his wife's tap upon his back. The comment had resounded more with smugness than sagacity, he did have to admit.  
  
_"Yes, I'll just bet you saved your time, expecting to use it for a nice long home leave after eight years on the other side of the galaxy!"_ Janeway laughed. _"And at that, I think it's time I let you get back to whatever it was you were doing when I interrupted you. My regards to your children and granddaughter!"_  
  
"Thank you, Captain. Our regards to Chakotay and to any of the crew you may encounter."  
  
For several moments after the screen went dark, Tuvok sat in front of the console, with his fingers steepled before him, as he contemplated leaving Starfleet for a second time. And if did resign his commission again, it would undoubtedly be for the last time. He was barely aware of T'Pel, who was still standing behind him and leaning against his shoulder, until she remarked, "You neglected to mention that other communication from a former shipmate, Tuvok."  
  
"It was not a deliberate omission, T'Pel. Quite frankly, I forgot all about it while I was speaking with the captain—although had I shared such news, she may not have believed me. You nearly did not, and you were there."  
  
"That is true," T'Pel mused. "Had we not been telepathically linked at the time, enabling me to sense it for myself, I would have thought it impossible." She stood up suddenly, as if a thought had just struck her. "Perhaps the time has simply not come to reveal what happened. In fact, I know it is not the time to reveal it."  
  
"And how do you know this?" Tuvok asked quizzically, although in some strange way he perceived this was so himself.  
  
"I do not know how I do, but I do; and I also am quite sure that when the time comes to disclose it, I will know that, too."  
  
Tuvok turned his chair and looked up at his wife, wondering again how he could have ever survived for so long without her when every fiber of his being was so deeply entwined with her own.  
  
_Parted from me, yet never parted._ The words of the bonding ritual came to mind. That was the simple answer, of course. After the experience of the past few years, however, Tuvok was aware of another simple truth: never would he be willing to test this maxim again. To risk a permanent separation from T'Pel was something he could not bear to contemplate.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by jamelia


	5. Stardate 56268.5

  
**French Quarter, New Orleans—_April 13, 2380, Stardate 56268.5_**  
  
"Sarexa?"  
  
Neelix knelt in front of an open storage unit in the bedroom of the apartment he and Sarexa shared. Even after all these months, he hadn't gotten used to the amount of space available in their new home. He had spent so many years living in much smaller quarters that even the size of the bathtub in this apartment continued to amaze him. His own ship had had barely enough room to hold his bed, a few necessary supplies and what he considered a very meager wardrobe. Any extra space on the vessel was jammed to the ceiling conduits with trading and salvage materials. His quarters on _Voyager_, although more efficiently laid out, were not much larger and had quickly been filled with many fascinating objects, as well as the constantly expanding wardrobe he'd begun to acquire almost immediately after coming aboard.  
  
He remembered Captain Janeway once commenting that when _Voyager_ arrived in the Alpha Quadrant she was going to have to commandeer two shuttles just to move Neelix's possessions off the ship. She had very nearly been right.  
  
When Neelix and Sarexa had first seen their new home, they'd gasped at the size of it. They'd had a wonderful time storing away all their belongings—and had been amazed there were still places left empty when they were done.  
  
The problem was that with all this space, Neelix could never remember where anything was. On his ship, and on _Voyager_, everything was always at his fingertips. And if by some chance he couldn't find what he was looking for immediately, it usually turned up pretty quickly.  
  
He leaned forward and peered intently into the open bin. "Sarexa!"  
  
There was no answer, and Neelix sighed in frustration.  
  
"I know I saw it last week," he muttered, and pushed at the sleeves of his newest jacket. They were loose and flowing—just as he'd designed them. After several disasters he'd finally found a tailor he liked, and this jacket was the finished product—the result of many intense discussions and countless fittings. But the jacket would be nothing without the cravat made from the Dresabian silk he'd picked up on one of his Delta Quadrant trade missions. It completed the outfit.  
  
He and Sarexa had been invited to an affair at the residence of the Takaran Ambassador, and he wanted to look his best. The reception, which the invitation referred to as "high tea," was the first of several forwarded to him from Starfleet Command recently; and Neelix was well aware that many sets of eyes would be on him this afternoon. The Takarans were known to be sticklers for protocol, and this reception would, he hoped, prove to those who might doubt his abilities that he and Sarexa were more than capable of assuming active diplomatic responsibilities themselves.  
  
Although he had served as _Voyager's_ goodwill ambassador for many years, he was finding real ambassadorial duties were far more complicated than he had imagined. After he'd made his presentation to the Council and been designated the official Talaxian Ambassador to the Federation, he'd been given a book of protocols and procedures which he'd studied at great length. But some of the instructions were contradictory and difficult to understand—in fact, some of them made very little sense at all. When he'd mentioned this to Captain Janeway, during one of their recently all-too- rare conversations, she'd laughed and told him the art of diplomacy was indeed complex, but if he tried to stay on good terms with everyone for as long as possible, or even longer, he'd be fine.  
  
At first, with all the attention focused on _Voyager's_ return to the Alpha Quadrant, he and Sarexa had been objects of a great deal of attention—from the media as well as from Starfleet Command—and he'd had ample opportunity to practice "meeting and greeting," as Tom Paris called it. But recently they'd been left more or less alone, and Neelix was getting frustrated. He liked to be busy.  
  
He dug into the storage bin and rifled through its contents.  
  
"Oh. I've been looking for this for ages." He pulled out a brightly colored shirt and flung it carelessly over his shoulder. "And that!" An oversized apron followed the shirt.  
  
He found several other long-forgotten pieces of clothing, but no Dresabian silk. He stood up and pushed the bin back towards the wall, recovered an orange sock that had somehow escaped during his search, and tossed it back into the unit.  
  
"I guess I should try over there," he muttered to himself, and turned his attention to a bank of drawers set into the wall on the other side of the room.  
  
"Sarexa?" he tried again, hoping this time there'd be a response.  
  
"Neelix, did you call me?" Sarexa entered their bedroom, and with a great sense of relief, Neelix saw she was carrying the missing cravat.  
  
"Sweeting!" He rushed over to plant a kiss on her cheek. "Have I told you how much I cherish you today?"  
  
Sarexa grinned at him and handed him the object of his recent search. "Were you looking for something?" she asked innocently. He stared at her for a moment and they both burst into laughter.  
  
"What's this?" Sarexa asked, when they'd both recovered. She nodded towards the interesting pile of clothing in the middle of the floor.  
  
"Oh, just a few things I found while I was looking for my cravat.” He bent down and retrieved the apron. "Do you remember last time I wore this?" he asked, and continued without waiting for her to answer. "It was when I was preparing the cake for Naomi's seventh birthday."  
  
"I remember. It was a beautiful cake, Neelix—Denobulan chocolate. And it was a wonderful party, too. Wasn't that the time Tom Paris taught us all how to play that funny game. It was...."  
  
"It was called 'Pin the Tail on the Donkey!' " Neelix responded immediately. "And Naomi and Icheb kept saying they were too old to play."  
  
"Yes, but the rest of us played and were having such a good time that Naomi and Icheb couldn't help but join in! Oh, I do remember, Neelix. Now, let's see how this looks with your new suit."  
  
She proceeded to arrange and tie the cravat carefully around his neck, tucking it neatly into the loop the tailor had stitched onto his shirt. "There," she said. She stood aside so that Neelix could see himself in the mirror. "You look very handsome, Ambassador."  
  
"Thank you, Madam," he replied formally. He picked up a PADD lying on the table beside their bed. "I've been studying the traditional high tea service, and I believe I've got it."  
  
He activated the PADD and scrolled through until he found the passages he sought.  
  
"Did you know high tea is a tradition dating back to the 17th century on Earth, and that the Takarans developed the custom at approximately the same time. The Takarans have taken the ceremony much farther than the Terrans ever did, though. The protocols involved are extremely rigid; and if an error is made during the ritual, the entire procedure must begin again."  
  
"It sounds complicated. Are you sure you're ready, Neelix?" Sarexa asked him.  
  
"Oh, yes," he replied. "I found a traditional three-handled tea pot in a store near Bourbon Street, and it turned out that the proprietor of the establishment had spent several years on Tarkara. He was very helpful and explained all the different pouring and drinking motions to me. I've been practicing. Come, I'll show you."  
  
*  
  
Seven extremely long hours later, Neelix and Sarexa sat side by side on their living room couch, shoes off and feet up on the coffee table.  
  
"That was exhausting," Sarexa said. "I never realized quite how difficult it was to be an ambassador."  
  
"If being an ambassador means standing around for four hours while someone pours tea into cups the size of an Ocampan's toe nail, then it's not for me." Neelix pulled off his cravat and tossed it onto the table in front of him. "I liked it much more when I was making our presentation to President M'Renn on behalf of the Maquis and Tom Paris. Now _that_ was what I call being a diplomat."  
  
"Did you know," Sarexa smiled as she quoted the wife of the Takaran Charge d'Affaires, "the population of the Talnaran continent celebrates the traditional tea ceremony every ninth hour during their summer harvest season. And," she continued "each Takaran daughter is presented with her first tea set at the age of six."  
  
"I did," Neelix sighed. "As a matter of fact, she told me the same thing during our conversation at the beginning of the ceremony, and at the end of it. And again just before we left the reception."  
  
"But the Moropan Ambassador complimented you on your pouring skill, Neelix," Sarexa reminded him. "And Admiral Taylor mentioned he'd heard good things about you during a meeting with Admiral Ross."  
  
"So he did, Sarexa, so he did." He paused for a moment and sighed again. "But I wish someone would give me a proper assignment. Like the kind Captain Janeway used to when we were on Voyager. I remember when I had to learn to converse with the Tak Tak. Now _that_ was interesting. Or the Kadi Ambassador. There was a challenge!"  
  
Sarexa patted her husband's hand and stood, gathering up the pile of discarded clothing as she did. "You're doing fine Neelix," she assured him. "You know, the Federation people have to make sure you really are qualified before they give you an important assignment."  
  
"You're right, of course," Neelix replied, rising to join her. "But this ambassador stuff just isn't what I'd thought it would be." He bent over to retrieve the Dresabian silk. "I miss _Voyager_," he said as he handed it to her. "I miss exploring, and I miss our friends."  
  
"I know you do," Sarexa replied. "So do I. It seems we only get together for special occasions now, as opposed to seeing each other on a regular basis. But life here is good, too. And who knows? Maybe we'll be sent out on a mission sooner than you think."  
  
Neelix smiled and took the bundle of clothes from his wife. "Come on, Sarexa. I'll help you put all this away, and then I'm going to make you a very special soufflé for dinner. I think I've finally found a combination of spices that will make okra taste exactly like leola root."  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by CyberMum


	6. Stardate 56300.8

  
**Starfleet Housing Complex, San Francisco—_April 19, 2380, Stardate 56300.8_**  
  
"Slowly, gently, da-da-da-da-da," Mark Lewis sang quietly as he entered the security code for the apartment he shared with Reginald Barclay. He still felt euphoric from the night's rehearsal. Everything had clicked—the music, the acting, even the chemistry between him and Lieutenant Lind, the medtech who was playing Christine. In fact, Lieutenant Lind had actually laughed at one of his jokes between scenes. It felt like great progress; for weeks, she had been visibly nervous around him and insisted on calling him "Doctor Zimmerman." Tonight, for the first time, she had called him simply, "Doctor." A small step, but it left him happy nonetheless.  
  
The door opened, and his reverie was broken as he realized the loft apartment was ablaze with light. He never left the lights on. Warily, he stepped inside. Other than the lights, everything appeared to be in order. He took two more steps and stopped, feeling that something was wrong. Then he realized what it was—the cat hadn't attacked him yet. There was only one explanation for the absence of Neelix the Cat. "Reg?" he called. "Are you home?"  
  
"Oh, hi, Mark," came the voice of Reg Barclay from the kitchen, one level above. He stepped out, still in uniform, with the fat white cat wrapped around his shoulders like a shawl, purring loudly enough to be heard from a distance. Reg was holding a large dish of ice cream.  
  
"You're back early," Mark said. He noted the volume of ice cream in the dish, the quantity of caramel sauce, and the height of the whipped cream. Reg usually resorted to sugar when he was upset. "Anything wrong?"  
  
"No, no," Reg said quickly. So quickly, in fact, that Mark knew immediately he was hiding something. Reg came down the short stairway and sat on the sofa. Neelix lifted his head and glared at Mark as they passed, then returned to purring. "So, were you working late?"  
  
"No, I was at rehearsal. The Medical Department's production of 'The Phantom of the Opera,' remember? I told you about it before you left for Jupiter Station." He sat down in the next chair and watched Reg closely. The man's eyes seemed focused on something far away.  
  
"Uh, right. That's good."  
  
Mark frowned, suspecting that Reg wasn't listening. "It's going very well. But we made a cast change."  
  
"Uh-huh. Good."  
  
"I'm not playing the Phantom any more. I'm playing Christine."  
  
"Uh, good."  
  
"In the nude."  
  
"That's good—uh, what?" Reg finally seemed to see him, and he looked confused.  
  
Mark shook his head. "What is wrong?" A sudden fear gripped him. "Everything's all right at Jupiter Station, isn't it? Has something happened to Lewis or Haley?"  
  
"They're fine," Reg said glumly.  
  
"Then what is it?"  
  
"Lewis kicked me off the Station." Reg shoved a mountainous spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. "Ee sez Ah kent cum back."  
  
"He says you can't come back?" Mark translated the caramel dialect and stared at him. "I don't believe that. You're Lewis's protégé. Why would he bar you from coming back?"  
  
Reg stared down into his dish. "He, uh, he caught me kissing Haley."  
  
"You kissed my sister?" Mark half-rose from the chair, his voice louder than he intended. He forced himself to sit again. _After all_, he reminded himself, _this is Reg_. "Just a chaste peck on the cheek, I presume, but Lewis misunderstood?"  
  
The man's whole body slumped. "Not exactly."  
  
Mark felt his jaw clench. "Then what, exactly?"  
  
"We, uh, we were on the sofa in the parlor. Kinda lying down." Reg finally looked up. "It wasn't what it looked like, really."  
  
"What did it—no." Mark squinched his eyes shut, trying to block out the picture his imagination had conjured. "Don't tell me anything more." Then, unable to contain himself any longer, he stood up and leaned over his friend. "Of _course_ Lewis threw you out. What were you thinking?"  
  
Neelix the Cat raised his head and hissed in his direction, teeth bared. Mark took a step back.  
  
"I think I'm in love with her," Reg said miserably. He looked up, and his eyes were filled with pain. "I really think I love her."  
  
Mark caught his breath. Of course Reg was in love with Haley. Reg had always been partial to holograms, and he had spent a lot of time on Jupiter Station. Haley was beautiful and sweet. And she had always been particularly understanding of Reg's various paranoias and foibles; after all, she was originally programmed to be tolerant of Lewis Zimmerman. They should have seen it coming.  
  
With a sigh, he sat down. "Well. That's different. Have you told her?"  
  
"Not exactly."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"I was trying to tell her, but the words just kind of got stuck, you know? So I, I just kissed her."  
  
"And that's when Lewis walked in."  
  
"No, that came later, when we were on the sofa—"  
  
"Never mind. It's not important." Mark scrubbed his imagination again. "I take it Haley didn't object."  
  
Wonder suffused Reg's face. "No. I think—well, I'm pretty sure—she liked it."  
  
Of course. Except for one brief visit to Deep Space Nine, Haley had never been anywhere other than Jupiter Station and had never spent extensive time with anyone except Lewis and Reg. Knowing Reg, he'd probably been sending awkward, nonverbal signals of his feelings for a long time, and Haley was bright enough to pick up on them. What lonely young woman wouldn't respond? The only question in his mind was whether Haley was in love with Reg, or in love with being in love.  
  
"You know, Reg," he said slowly, "that was probably Haley's first kiss. She may be sentient but she's very...inexperienced."  
  
"Believe me, I know. That's why I was so surprised when she kissed me back."  
  
Mark waved his hand. "Just stop. I don't want to talk about the details. What I'm trying to say is that's probably why Lewis was angry. He might have thought you were taking advantage of her."  
  
"I would never—" Reg began, but then he slumped again. Neelix the Cat, annoyed by the repeated changes in posture, jumped off his shoulders to sit beside him. Reg still held the dish of ice cream in his lap, and the cat began to lick it. "You're right. Lewis will never let me see her again."  
  
Privately, Mark thought this was entirely possible but he said, "We'll see. I know you would never do anything to hurt her, but have you stopped to think about the difficulties you would face if you did become," he swallowed visibly, "involved?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
_Bless him,_ Mark thought, _he's got no idea what I am talking about._ "Sentient holograms are a new concept for most people. We aren't exactly everyone's favorite life form."  
  
Frowning, Reg said, "What do you mean? You're not having any problems. The only person who doesn't like you is Neelix here."  
  
Mark looked at the cat and shook his head. It was true, the feline Neelix had taken an instant dislike to him, and no amount of coaxing, feeding, or attempted petting had changed the animal's mind. They'd finally concluded that the cat didn't trust a being that had no scent. "That's not entirely true."  
  
"But you're doing great, Mark. I mean, you're at Starfleet Medical and you made that presentation to the Federation Medical Association and you've got an agent for your holonovel. You're doing great."  
  
"On the surface, I suppose it looks that way." He paused, trying to think of how best to illustrate his point. "Do you know, you are the only person on this planet who calls me 'Mark'? No one else will use my name. They call me Doctor Zimmerman."  
  
"That's not true," Reg said. "Your friends from _Voyager_ don't call you that."  
  
"No, they still call me 'Doctor.' Except for Mr. Paris, who insists on calling me 'Doc.'" He smiled. "That's different. It's like a family nickname now. But my colleagues at Starfleet Medical—other physicians, nurses, administrators—they all call me 'Doctor Zimmerman.' Both names, all the time, even when I ask them to be less formal. They don't ask me to join them for lunch, or when they go out after work, or when they play golf. They don't talk to me at all, except to discuss a case."  
  
There was more he could say, but he stopped there. Once he had imagined that as soon as he was declared a legally sentient being, he would be accepted by his Starfleet colleagues, at the very least. Wasn't that the point of Starfleet, to meet new life forms? Apparently it was easier to accept alien life that looked alien than someone who looked human but wasn't.  
  
Reg sat quietly for a moment. "Maybe it's just because you're new."  
  
He smiled wryly. "It's been a few months. I'm not new anymore. It's possible some of them don't like me; but to be honest, almost no one knows me well enough to have an opinion."  
  
"But that's just—wrong. It's...it's prejudice."  
  
"Yes, I think so. But it's very subtle. And if you get involved with Haley, it's likely you'll be on the receiving end of it. Haley can't leave Jupiter Station easily, but word will get around about you. It might even hurt your career."  
  
To his surprise, Reg suddenly grinned. "More than a diagnosis of holoadiction and transporter psychosis already has? Look at me, Mark. I'm a middle-aged lieutenant. My chances of making lieutenant commander are slim. In five years I'll hit the up-or-out rule." He set the bowl on the table beside the couch and stood up. "I think I'd rather have Haley than a third pip."  
  
"Maybe you should find out how she feels about it," he suggested. "Before you start planning your retirement party, that is. Why don't you call her?"  
  
"I will," Reg said. "That's just what I'll do—"  
  
The chime of the comm system interrupted them, and Reg froze like Neelix the Cat when he heard an invisible mouse. Mark raised his eyebrows. It was just too perfect. He went to the console and activated the screen. "Hello, Haley," he said even before her image was up.  
  
_"Is Reg there yet?"_ his sister asked. She looked upset. "He should be home by now."  
  
"He's here."  
  
_"Did he tell you what happened?" _Mark nodded and Haley went on, "_I am so angry at Lewis. He had no right to treat Reg that way."_ Her face softened. _"Is he okay?"_  
  
"Why don't you ask him yourself? He wants to talk to you."  
  
Mark turned and gestured for Reg to come over. "I'll wait in the other room," he said quietly.  
  
The other room was Reg's bedroom, the only room with an interior door for privacy. He rarely went in it, since he had no need for sleep. Most nights Mark sat up in the main room, working at the computer on his holonovel or a professional monograph. Occasionally, he would deactivate himself. That was one reason why he and Reg got on so well as roommates.  
  
But he did come here when he was in the mood to read. The bedroom was lined with shelves filled with book-PADDS. Reg was an inveterate reader with wide-ranging tastes; he had everything from detective stories to westerns to melodramas to technical manuals. Mark pulled a PADD at random and sat in a chair.  
  
The pages didn't hold his interest, though. He found himself reflecting on the conversation that had just ended. The depth of his bitterness surprised him. Until now, he hadn't realized how deeply hurt he was by the attitude of his peers at Starfleet Medical. Overt hostility was one thing; he could cope with that. The problem was that Neelix the Cat was one of the few beings who was overtly hostile to him, and he couldn't blame a non-sentient feline for not understanding photonic life forms. Humans, however, were a different story. It was the little things, the small snubs and subtle exclusions, and exaggerated courtesy that was really discourtesy, that ate away at him.  
  
He missed _Voyager_. At least there, he had been accepted for what he was. True, he sometimes had to remind people that he was just as real as they were, but in hindsight, he realized there was no malice in their actions. They were learning how to react to a suddenly sentient hologram just as tentatively as he was learning to be one.  
  
Things were very different now. Just today, he had walked into the physician's dining room only to discover that he apparently could stop time. Every one of his peers had frozen for a split second, whether they were talking or eating, and stared at him. It was as if the entire room slipped into stasis for one point seven seconds before they resumed their activities. No one invited him to sit down. He guessed that the idea that a hologram might join them for lunch had never occurred to them before.  
  
But, he reminded himself, there were other moments. When he'd come home tonight he had been happy simply because Jenna Lind had called him 'Doctor.' A small victory indeed, but a victory nonetheless.  
  
His thoughts turned to Haley. His sister was not one to complain, but she had to be lonely, stuck on Jupiter Station with no one but Lewis for company for long stretches of time. Even if it turned out to be nothing more than her first crush, it would be good for her to enjoy a little romance. Reg would never hurt her deliberately, and if nothing else, she might have some cherished memories. He still remembered Denara Pel warmly.  
  
"Mark!" Reg called from the other room, and he set the PADD down and hurried back to the living room. The comm console was dark again, but Reg's face outshone the wall lamps. "She loves me! She says she loves me! She wants me to go back to the Station!"  
  
"I'm glad," Mark said, and he meant it. "Come on, I'll help you pack."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Penny


	7. Stardate 56381.5

  
**Main Quadrangle, University of Chicago— _May 19, 2380 Stardate 56381.5_**  
  
The warm spring sunshine streamed through the full trees, dappling everyone in spectral leafy patterns. Chakotay, seated on the dais in robed splendor with the other graduates, looked out into the crowd. One by one, he picked out his friends: the EMH, smiling and waving from the rear of the rows of chairs neatly laid out, Tom Paris...and yes, B'Elanna and Miral were with him. To the right, he could hardly have missed Ambassador Neelix and his wife. The Talaxians certainly stood out in a crowd in their bright and garish outfits. He didn't see Tuvok, and Harry must not have been able to obtain leave from the _Enterprise_, but Ayala was there, as were the Careys. Nearly all his old crewmates from _Voyager_ were in attendance. His heart swelled in gratitude. Kathryn, of course, beamed up at him from where she sat with his cousins Tervan and Julia in the front row.  
  
The ceremonies progressed and soon his name was called. For a millisecond he heard his father's voice, again and forever questioning his choices. _These are not our traditions, Chakotay. Your accomplishment pleases me, but you did not have to leave the tribe to attain your goal_. In his mind, he answered,_ I honor you and the tribe, Father, but I must follow my own path!_ and he stepped forward, sternly holding his emotions in check, to accept the proffered roll of parchment. This was the moment he'd been waiting for. This made everything he had been through worthwhile.  
  
After the ceremony was over, the class of newly designated PhD's left the dais and mingled with the crowd, each soon surrounded by tightly knit groups of family and friends. Not surprisingly, within a few short moments it became difficult for those on the outward fringes to enter the fray.  
  
Despite his sturdy frame, Chakotay found himself nearly jostled off his feet by the horde of people rushing past him, and he grabbed at his traditional mortarboard before it fell to the ground. Entwined in his fingers was the heavy tassel, the quaint but lasting symbol of academia.  
  
"Congratulations, Chakotay!" Tom Paris enthused, clasping his hand and shoulder. "What do I call you now? Captain, Commander? Doctor, Lawyer, Indian Chief?" he teased.  
  
"Just 'Chakotay' will do fine, Tom," he said good-naturedly, enveloping both B'Elanna and Miral in his arms. His old Maquis friend had tears of joy in her eyes.  
  
Friends and well-wishers crowded around, offering congratulations, hugs, and handshakes. "Well done!" "Congratulations—good to see you again, Commander." "Three cheers for the graduate!"  
  
Holo-imagers clicked left and right, as time and again he posed with this or that fellow student, old crewmember, or friend. Suddenly, the crowd divided, and a tall, dignified man emerged from the throng. A warm brown hand took Chakotay's, the grip strong and respectful. Chakotay looked up into the stern face.  
  
"Allow me to congratulate you...Doctor."  
  
"Tuvok!" Chakotay clasped the hand in both of his and for a brief moment, he saw an answering warmth in the Vulcan's eyes. So he had come, after all. "I'm so glad to see you!"  
  
"This is a remarkable accomplishment. I will be watching your career...with interest."  
  
"Thank you. I hope it brings our paths together once again."  
  
"As do I." The Vulcan leaned toward him and whispered, quite uncharacteristically, "I know your family would be...proud." Then, as quickly as he had arrived, Tuvok departed; and the sea of humanity closed after him.  
  
Somewhat taken aback, Chakotay exchanged glances with Tervan. His cousin, who so closely resembled Kolopak, smiled. Before he could say anything, however, Chakotay caught a glimpse of auburn hair on the outskirts of the crowd. "Kathryn!" he called, making the crowd aware of the small woman attempting to worm her way in. He enveloped her in a bear hug, and she smiled at him.  
  
One more person navigated the opening plowed by Kathryn; a tall, dignified woman with skin the color of ebony, in colorful African robes, high scarf, and dangling earrings. Chakotay released Kathryn to take both the woman's hands in his.  
  
"Kathryn, may I introduce my research advisor, Kimani Zaji. She was instrumental in getting me to this day."  
  
"I believe your own effort got you to this day, Pr-r-r-ofessor." She turned a warm smile on Kathryn. "Chah-kah-tay's mind has hahd but two rooms, Kahthryn. His studies occupied one. You inhahbited the other. I suggested he occasionally lock the door between them so that he could concentrate on the studies," she said, her eyes twinkling.  
  
Clearly intrigued by the woman's lilting accent, Kathryn smiled. "Chakotay told me how you helped him. It's very nice to meet you."  
  
"Professor Zaji's name means 'Sweet and Beautiful Woman' in Kiswahili—and that is certainly so—but I think her most vital asset is her intelligence," added Chakotay.  
  
"I would agree," said Kathryn, warmly. The crowd was thinning now that the ceremonies had drawn to a close. "We were planning to have dinner with all our friends this evening to celebrate. Will you join us, Professor?"  
  
'Thank you very much, but—no, you have many friends and family to share your joy with. I go now to meet my next student. I have high hopes for him—as I had for you, Chah-kah-tay. You surpassed them all." She leaned over, as tall as he, and lightly kissed him, then turned with dignity and walked away.  
  
"Chakotay, you never cease to amaze me," Kathryn said, taking his arm.  
  
*  
  
After an excellent celebratory dinner, the two of them returned home to their quiet apartment.  
  
"I'm so glad Tom and B'Elanna were able to make it," Kathryn said, as she kicked off her shoes. "You know that they're reporting to Utopia Planitia the beginning of next month."  
  
"It was good to see them, and Mike Ayala and Joe Carey; but the real surprise for me was Tuvok. I really didn't think he would be here." Chakotay sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next to him invitingly.  
  
"Yes," Kathryn said as she sat down next to him and slipped her feet into his lap with a pleading look. "I would have liked to have a chance to speak with him longer, but he said he had an appointment in San Francisco. My guess is he went to Starfleet Headquarters, to formally hand in his resignation," she added regretfully.  
  
"Well, I didn't expect him to make the trip all the way out here just to attend my graduation." Noticing that Kathryn hadn't budged, Chakotay relented and picked up one of her feet, beginning to massage the sole with broad, firm strokes. "How's that?"  
  
"Ooh," she said, closing her eyes. "Feels good."  
  
"And if you're a good girl, I might just follow it up with a back and neck rub, too." She didn't answer, lost in the pleasure of the moment. He shook his head fondly. "I wish my sister could have been here, but at least Tervan and Julia came."  
  
Kathryn opened her eyes. "We just saw Maya a few months ago on Dorvan, Chakotay," she reminded him.  
  
"I know." He fell silent, thinking about his homeworld—and Tuvok's comment. With all his heart, he hoped it was true.  
  
He stood up. "Where are you going?" Kathryn asked.  
  
"Be back in a second," he called over his shoulder. He opened the chiller and removed the bottle of champagne he'd put there earlier, and picked up two crystal flutes as well. "Here you are," he said. "What's a celebration without a toast?"  
  
"I like the way you think," she said approvingly. She watched as he expertly removed the cork and poured the sparkling wine. She lifted her glass. "To the future, whatever it may hold."  
  
"To the future," he repeated. He took a sip and said, "Actually, I've got a pretty good idea of what comes next. I've received confirmation from the University of Arizona, Kathryn. I'm to report in two weeks."  
  
"Post-doctorate teaching?" she asked, taking a sip from her own glass.  
  
"Of course. And possibly some field work—with my students of course—if I can get an appointment to see Dr. Jones, the head of the department." He couldn't help dimpling with pride and soon his smile broke into the wide grin she loved so well.  
  
"Well. I'd say congratulations are in order." She raised her glass and he tapped it with his. "That is, unless you're tired of hearing that word."  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Jones, wait a minute—isn't he the Sherman's Planet nut?"  
  
Chakotay winced. He put his glass down on the coffee table, then reached over and took her glass from her, putting it down as well. "Aficionado, Kathryn, not 'nut.' And they say the planet is an archeological treasure trove." He pulled her to her feet.  
  
She put her arms around his neck. "I stand corrected."  
  
He bent his head and kissed her, then nuzzled her neck. "What do you say we take this celebration into the other room?"  
  
"A wonderful idea, Doctor Chakotay," she murmured approvingly.

**\--End Act 1--**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Soquilii9


	8. Stardate 56438.2 (Act 2)

**\--Act 2: June through July 2380\--**  
  
**Transwarp Propulsion Lab, Utopia Planitia—_June 9, 2380 Stardate 56438.2_**  
  
B'Elanna Torres was eager to get back to work. Much as she'd enjoyed her two weeks leave with Tom and Miral—settling into their new quarters on Utopia Planitia, exploring the station, even taking a family trip down to the domed Mars Colonies to see the sights and shop along the two kilometer long promenade fronting the Bradbury Canal—she'd started to feel impatient.  
  
Tom had sensed her eagerness. He'd practically pushed her out the door this morning, more than happy to spend some father-daughter time with Miral. In a week he would start his position at the station's Test Pilot Facility, but in the meantime, he wanted to ease Miral into her new environment. They'd briefly considered working different shifts so one of them could be with Miral, now that Tom's family wasn't readily available for babysitting duty. But B'Elanna had convinced her husband that Miral would enjoy the activities at the daycare facility, and the chance to play with other children, and would benefit more from the three of them spending time together as a family in the evenings. After thoroughly researching the safety record and amenities available at the Children's Center—a project that Tom had managed to make more comprehensive than a Level One all-systems starship diagnostic—he'd agreed.  
  
In all, their lives were about to take on a new stability. During the past few months they'd been constantly in motion, with the weeks of debriefings and hearings following _Voyager's_ arrival from the Delta Quadrant, the visit to Qo'noS (where her Klingon family had openly welcomed Tom and Miral), and then their brief return to Earth. With Tom going back and forth to Australia while she was posted at Starfleet Headquarters, it had felt like their lives were in flux. Now they were out of the temporary apartment in San Francisco, where they'd barely unpacked, and settled for the foreseeable future here. She was assigned to the station's Transwarp Propulsion Lab, ready to tackle a long term project, one which, if not dear to her heart, was certainly important to restoring her battered ego.  
  
She had Admiral Ch'tin to thank for that, along with Captain Geordi La Forge, who had requested her for his transwarp team. Her work at Headquarters' Starship Design Department, incorporating some of the technology _Voyager_ had brought from the Delta Quadrant into current starship design, had been challenging to a degree. But it wasn't in the same league as perfecting a working transwarp coil, especially since the slipstream drive had been deemed too unwieldy and unreliable for regular use on any craft much larger than a shuttle the size of the _Delta Flyer_.  
  
"Thank you for waiting, Commander Torres."  
  
B'Elanna nodded cordially to the Tellarite lieutenant who approached.  
  
"If you'll follow me, I'll take you to Captain La Forge."  
  
B'Elanna followed, down several radiantly clean corridors. She'd taken the short VIP tour several days ago, so she could have found her way, but there was no circumventing protocol when it came to Starfleet.  
  
"Here we are," the lieutenant said, stopping in front of a door labeled Transwarp Propulsion Lab. He submitted to a retinal scan, and a moment later the door slid open. "Your scan will be in the database by 0900 hours."  
  
B'Elanna had intentionally arrived early, and the minor inconvenience didn't bother her. "Thank you, Lieutenant," she said as she stepped through the door.  
  
The lieutenant moved away as the door closed between them. B'Elanna walked past the collection of equipment, all of the latest design—oscillators, flux generators, plasma conductors, and the like—and headed for the bank of computer screens situated in front of the wall-length window overlooking the main shipyard. A man in a Starfleet uniform was studying one of the screens. He turned at the sound of her footsteps.  
  
"Lieutenant Commander B'Elanna Torres," he said, smiling warmly. "I'm sorry I wasn't here last week to meet you and give you the tour. I had to attend a conference at Headquarters, and a boring one at that. But it is a pleasure to finally meet you." He held out a hand. "Geordi La Forge."  
  
B'Elanna shook his hand. "It's good to finally meet you, Captain. I've heard a lot about you."  
  
"Likewise," Geordi said. "You are the first person to ever come up with a working transwarp coil."  
  
"Not for long," B'Elanna said ruefully.  
  
Geordi laughed, a rich, generous sound. "Well, it was a good start, and the person who came up with such ingenious solutions to some of the more vexing problems belongs on this project. We've been working at a disadvantage without your input. In the meantime, I hope you and your family have settled in and are feeling at home."  
  
"We are," B'Elanna said. "For the past few months we've been trying to figure out where home is now. We were on _Voyager_ for so long—"  
  
"I understand," Geordi said, his expression sympathetic. "I served on the _Enterprise_ for nearly fifteen years. It became home to me, and I still think of many of the crew as my family. Ships can be like that."  
  
B'Elanna nodded. "Yes. But I think we'll like it here. Miral—that's my daughter—is already fascinated with Mars."  
  
"I recall Admiral Paris boasting about her all over Starfleet Headquarters," Geordi said, grinning. "I'm looking forward to meeting her and your husband."  
  
"Right now they're spending time together before Tom reports to his new post next week," B'Elanna said. "I believe they're going to Mars this afternoon to 'ride the dunes.' " She grimaced, since she'd questioned the wisdom of taking a sixteen-month old on a dune buggy through the dusty Martian hills, despite the fact that the environmental suit transponders were programmed to initiate an immediate beam-out to the dome at any sign of trouble. "My husband is a still a boy at heart."  
  
Geordi chuckled. "Tom sounds like every pilot I've ever known. The Test Pilot Facility is headed by Commodore Nadaara now. She's ninety if she's a day, though I understand that's not very old for a Capellan. She's an unusual officer, considering that she places a high value on independent thinking."  
  
B'Elanna laughed. "I'm sure Tom will feel right at home then." She already felt that way with Geordi. He was as likable as she'd heard. "Tom's almost as ready to fly again as I am to come up with a permanently functioning transwarp coil."  
  
Geordi smiled at her resolve. "With you here now, I don't know how we can miss." He pointed to the screen he'd been studying. "The rest of the team usually shows up around nine hundred hours, but I wanted to go over some of your logs from _Voyager_ again. The tests on our latest prototype are very promising, but we're still having problems with the Zornon tech, specifically maintaining the resonance frequencies."  
  
B'Elanna nodded. "It was problematic from the beginning, but every other viable theory for protecting the warp core from tachyon radiation failed."  
  
"I have a couple of ideas about revising the shield modulation equations."  
  
B'Elanna pulled her PADD out of her uniform pocket and activated the screen. All other thoughts were forgotten as her mind immediately became caught up in the engrossing dynamics of astrophysics and engineering. "I've been thinking about that too..."  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Julie


	9. Stardate 56454.9

  
**Faculty Offices, Starfleet Academy—_June 15, 2380, Stardate 56454.9_**  
  
The cadet's worried expression slowly eased as she bent over the computer monitor. "That's it?"  
  
Janeway nodded, but kept her amusement from showing. "Is something wrong, Miss Hemmings?"  
  
"No, not at all! It's just I didn't think the solution to this problem would be so easy."  
  
"Most answers are, once you can see them," Janeway answered. "Is there anything else you need me to help you with?"  
  
"No, ma'am. I think I understand everything else now." The cadet gathered up her study PADDS. "Thank you so much for going over the material with me, Captain Janeway."  
  
"My pleasure," Janeway said, rising from behind her desk and escorting Hemmings to the door. "That's what I'm here for."  
  
Hemmings paused at the threshold, just in front of the automatic door sensor. "I'm so glad you're teaching at the Academy, Captain. I hope to take at least one course with you in the fall as well."  
  
Janeway smiled as the cadet left, but her expression changed once the door closed. She went over to the replicator. "Coffee. Black." Instead of returning to her desk, she leaned against the wall sipping her drink, its welcome warmth soothing her jangled nerves.  
  
Fall. Cadet Hemmings had spoken of it as casually as if it were a fact that Janeway would still be teaching come September. Of course, why would anyone think otherwise? Even though Admiral Hayes had assured her that her stint at the Academy would be only six months, Janeway herself was beginning to have her doubts. She had had no further communication with Hayes on the subject—or any other subject, for that matter. For all intents and purposes, it was starting to look like a permanent assignment.  
  
Just a few months ago she had spoken blithely of a future command to Tuvok, so sure she would be back in space within a short period of time that she had sought to gain his acceptance of the position of her first officer. Now that conversation seemed woefully premature.  
  
She strode purposefully over to the comm unit, started to punch in the code to the Commander-in-Chief's office, and then stopped. No, she couldn't just call Hayes and demand to know what her next assignment was. The six months weren't up yet, after all. Surely, by the end of the summer, she would have heard something. Until then, she would keep her mind on her teaching duties.  
  
Resolutely pushing away all thoughts of the rumors from Utopia Planitia of new ships and faster-than-warp drives, she began preparing for her next day's lectures.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Rocky


	10. Stardate 56474.5

  
**USS Enterprise-E—_June 22, 2380, Stardate 56474.5_**  
  
Lieutenant Harry Kim laughed out loud. Several heads in the Mess Hall turned in his direction, but he didn't notice. His attention was focused on the small vid monitor in front of him. "I wish I'd seen that."  
  
Tom Paris's face grinned from the screen. _"It was priceless. She was determined to sleep in her 'big girl bed,' with all her stuffed animals. She actually demanded we take the crib away, in abbreviated language, but her meaning was clear. B'Elanna wanted to ease her out of the crib, but Miral's already got a stubborn streak."_  
  
"She's definitely your daughter, Tom," Harry said, still chuckling. "And B'Elanna's."  
  
_"Yeah, she is." _Tom shook his head._ "And she's not a baby anymore, Harry. Where does the time go?"_  
  
Harry wondered that himself. He didn't have an answer. "Speaking of temporal conundrums, how's the transwarp project going?"  
  
_"Good, I think. You know B'Elanna. Until she can say it's a rousing success, she doesn't want to talk about it. But she and Geordi La Forge work well together. He's a talented engineer and a pretty nice guy."_  
  
"He certainly is held in high regard here," Harry said. "I feel a little sorry for Commander Stone having to follow in his footsteps, the way everyone still talks about him."  
  
_"I guess it's never easy being the new officer on the ship. Speaking of that, how's it going for you?"_  
  
Harry shrugged under Tom's suddenly scrutinizing gaze. "I'm doing fine. It's a beautiful ship—a huge ship—and Captain Picard commands a great deal of respect and loyalty. He expects everyone to do their best, and they do."  
  
_"You always do your best,"_ Tom said with a small smile. _"The job is going good then. How about your personal life?"_  
  
Harry tensed at that question. "Tom—"  
  
_"Harry, please tell me you do take a little time out for fun?"_  
  
Harry relaxed at Tom's plaintive tone. Tom wasn't asking about romance—which was something Harry had banished from his life for the foreseeable future. "There's a weekly senior officers poker game here." Or a weekly fleecing, from his point of view. "And I've downloaded a holoprogram or two."  
  
_"Whew. For a moment there I was afraid I'd taught you nothing."_  
  
Harry shook his head at Tom's grin. He wasn't about to tell his friend the programs he'd downloaded had been a reflex training program and a cultural dissertation of jazz music throughout the Federation. "Don't worry, Tom. I have plenty to occupy my free time."  
  
_"Good,"_ Tom said. _"Don't forget some of my old programs from Voyager are in the general entertainment database now."_  
  
"Does that include Slave Girls from Planet Ten?" Harry joked.  
  
Tom flushed a little and cleared his throat. _"Uh, no. That one got erased a long time ago."_  
  
Harry laughed. He was sure it had. B'Elanna and the slave girls would never have happily coexisted.  
  
_"So what about the crew, Harry? Taken anyone under your wing yet? Perhaps an eager young ensign in need of your greater experience and wisdom to save him from the unscrupulous scoundrels of the galaxy?"_  
  
Harry grinned at the reference. "Like you took me under your wing, Tom? Are you sure you weren't one of those unscrupulous scoundrels?"  
  
Tom laughed. _"Scoundrel, maybe. Unscrupulous, though? Harry, you wound me."_  
  
"Sorry. There are lots of young, eager ensigns here who value my sage advice."  
  
Tom nodded, apparently satisfied with that patently evasive answer. Or maybe he had just run out of time. _"Hey, buddy, I gotta go. I'll talk to you in a couple of weeks, and let you know the how the new Flyer design is going, and the latest word on Voyager Two. Oh, and Miral's latest stunt I'm sure she'll pull in the meantime."_  
  
Harry smiled. "I can't wait."  
  
_"Bye, Harry. Keep in touch."_  
  
"You too..." The vid screen went blank before Harry finished those two words. He sighed, regretting for a moment that he wasn't there to help with the _Flyer_ design and watch the new _Voyager_ go from the drawing board to actual starship.  
  
Harry had told Tom the truth. His job was going well. He enjoyed being head of Operations on the _Enterprise_. His duties on such a large ship were extensive, and as challenging as those on _Voyager_ in their own way. He was gaining valuable experience that would serve him well for later career advancement. And he did like the crew. They were close-knit by almost any standards.  
  
But it wasn't the same. _Voyager_ had been his first ship assignment, and it had lasted eight years. The unique circumstances had forged a bond among the crew that had been extraordinary. He knew there were strong bonds among many on the _Enterprise_ too. But he hadn't formed any yet, not like he had on _Voyager_.  
  
The truth was, he missed more than just Tom and B'Elanna and all his other friends, and seeing his goddaughter grow and change. He missed the life that had been, as odd as that seemed to him, considering his zeal to get home. Maybe it _had_ been about the journey rather than the destination, more so than he'd realized. And compared to _Voyager_, life on the _Enterprise_ was tame and fairly predictable. Though he'd never again want to face that kind of exile from home and loved ones, he'd gotten used to the uncertainties on _Voyager_, and the satisfaction of overcoming real fear and dangers—in short, to living on the edge.  
  
Harry couldn't help smiling, thinking about the incongruities in that sudden insight. He used to accuse Tom of wanting to live too much on the edge. Now, every time he talked to Tom, he sensed his friend was as content with his more orderly life at Utopia Planitia as he'd been on _Voyager_. Could it be he'd turned into Tom Paris, and Tom had turned into him?  
  
Harry snorted softly at the idea. They'd both changed over the years, but Tom was still Tom. He had simply put all the pieces of his life together, professional and personal. And Harry hadn't yet.  
  
Harry immediately pushed that notion away. Any errant thought that might bring Marla to mind he banished before it could fully form. He rarely thought about her anymore, thanks to hard and deliberate effort on his part. Dreaming was another thing; but he never remembered his dreams anyway, if he could help it.  
  
He refocused his thoughts on the _Enterprise_. She was still the premier ship of the Fleet, and he was glad he'd gotten this posting. He was just getting used to being here, and to adjusting to his new life. He knew he could expect more transfers in the future. That was the nature of shipboard duty and the path to command, so he just had to learn to accept people coming and going out of his life—  
  
"Excuse me, Lieutenant Kim?"  
  
Harry looked up at the young man from Engineering. Ensign Mondi Banahuele had joined the _Enterprise_ at the same time Harry had, in his case coming straight from the Academy. They'd worked together a few times, and they'd had a few interesting conversations in Ten Forward after hours. Harry liked the kid, but he tended to take himself and his duty very seriously.  
  
Ensign Banahuele offered him a PADD. "Sir, you said you wanted to see this report on the new shield frequencies."  
  
"In the morning would have been fine, Mondi."  
  
"Yes, sir. I just wanted to make sure I'm on top of everything."  
  
Harry wondered if he'd been that stiff and proper years ago. "You are. Right now though, you're off duty. So I'm just Harry."  
  
"Right." A smile spread across Mondi's dark face as he sat down. "Are you joining the senior officer's poker game tonight?"  
  
"I don't know," Harry said. He added ruefully, "I'm not sure I have any more credits left to lose to Commander Data."  
  
Mondi sighed. "I haven't won once in the Engineering Department's game. Commander Stone told me I need to learn how to bluff."  
  
"That does take some practice," Harry said. He recalled once during that first year on _Voyager_ how Tom had told him his face was as easy to read as an unencrypted PADD. But he'd learned, even if it didn't always work on Data. "Mondi, are you busy for the rest of the evening?"  
  
Mondi shook his head. "I was just planning a quick stop at Ten Forward, then an early night going over some equations on warp harmonics. I like to keep up with the latest theories."  
  
Harry shook his head. "You can't work all the time. You'll burn out. I have a holoprogram you might enjoy. It has some historical and cultural significance, and you can learn a few things about tactics and strategy...like bluffing. And best of all, it's fun. Interested?"  
  
Mondi's face lit up. "Yes, sir—I mean Harry."  
  
"Good." Harry stood and clapped an arm on Mondi's shoulder. "I have holodeck three reserved for two hours, starting in ten minutes." He'd planned to work out in his reflex training program; but Tom had given him a better idea, and why not? He grinned. "You're really going to like this one."  
  
"What's it about exactly?" Mondi asked as they exited the mess hall.  
  
"It's a role-playing program about a hero who defends the galaxy against an evil scientist bent on galactic domination. The hero's name is Captain Proton, and he has this trusty and stalwart sidekick named Buster Kincaid—that's you..."  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Julie


	11. Stardate 56507.8

  
**New Molokai, Bajoran System—_July 4, 2380, Stardate 56507.8_**  
  
She was dreaming, and for once the dreams were peaceful. The scene was too dark to distinguish, the voices were soft and the faces blurred, but it all felt calm and strong. It felt like Harry.  
  
"Marla," a voice whispered insistently. "Wake up."  
  
Reluctantly, Marla Gilmore pulled her mind from the sweet dream darkness to the real darkness of the dormitory. The Bajoran vedek everyone called Sister was leaning over her bed, little more than a shadow but for the pressure of her hand on Marla's shoulder. Marla blinked, trying to re-orient herself. "Is it my shift already?"  
  
"No," Sister whispered. "It's barely midnight. You have an incoming call. It's someone from Luna City. Do you want it?"  
  
If Sister had tossed a bucket of cold water, Marla could not have come to full alert any quicker. Luna City? She knew who the caller must be. The only questions were how he knew where to find her, and what news he might have. "Yes," she whispered back. Her seven other shift-mates were asleep in the room, and they deserved a night without interruptions. As Sister left, Marla snatched up the terrycloth robe that was her only luxury and cinched it tightly.  
  
She had to squint against the brightness of the common room, but her eyes quickly adjusted to the light. Touching the "accept" control on the console, she didn't wait to see the image before saying, "Hello, Noah."  
  
Noah Lessing stared back at her. Despite the fact that he had placed the call, he seemed surprised. _"Damn,"_ he said. _"It is you. I almost hoped it was a different Marla Gilmore."_  
  
"How did you find me?" she asked. "My sister?"  
  
He shook his head. _"Not directly. But Kaylyn has let a couple of things slip over the past few months, and I finally put two and two together. What are you doing on that leper colony? Have you lost your mind?"_  
  
"New Molokai is not a leper colony. It's a hospice for patients with CCNS—Complex Cellular Necrotaceous Syndrome." She spoke calmly; she and Kaylyn had gone through the same conversation often enough.  
  
He shook his head. _"Don't play word games with me. It's a modern plague and contagious as hell. That's why they put patients there as soon as they're diagnosed. What are you doing there? You're an engineer, not a nurse."_  
  
"I'm an engineer here when one is needed. I'm an orderly when one is needed. Sometimes I'm even the cook." She smiled. "We don't have a lot of resources here. We each do what needs doing."  
  
His dark eyes locked on hers. _"You don't need to do this, Marla."_  
  
She chose to misunderstand him. "Someone needs to. I don't know whether this is a Cardassian biological weapon that got loose or some Malthusian catastrophe, but it's a horrible way to die. They have to be quarantined, but someone has to help them."  
  
_"You know what I mean." _His gaze bore down on her.  
  
Marla took a deep breath. "Maybe I do. But it doesn't change the fact that these people are in pain—and I can help them. I can help them, Noah. Do you have any idea how important that is to me? I can _really_ help them."  
  
He looked as if he were going to argue with her, but instead of speaking, he looked away for a moment. _"How are you?"_ he finally asked.  
  
Relieved that the worst seemed to be over, she relaxed and smiled. "I'm fine. It's hard work, but it's good. I'm sleeping better than I have in a long time. I've even dropped a couple of pounds."  
  
_"Like you needed to,"_ he snorted.  
  
"What about you?" she asked quickly. "How's the flower shop?"  
  
_"It's great. Business is good and I see Hannah every day. Can't ask for better than that."_  
  
Marla's smile broadened. "I bet she loves having you there."  
  
_"Well, we're making up for lost time. She's so grown up, Marla. She's taller than Ginny already."_ He almost glowed with pride. _"She's at the top of her class. Says she wants to be a xenobotanist, like me."_  
  
"That's wonderful. And things are good with Ginny?"  
  
His smile faded a little. _"Yeah. Her new husband's a good man. We get along fine."_  
  
The human voice was an amazing thing, Marla thought. It could convey so many contradictory things in a few words. Noah's voice had been both contented and regretful. She wondered if he realized it. "That's good."  
  
His eyes narrowed a little. _"Harry Kim was looking for you. He was about out of his mind when you disappeared."_  
  
Marla steeled herself, the way she always did when she thought of Harry. "You can't tell him where I am. Promise me."  
  
_"I probably won't see him for years," _Noah said. _"You know he shipped out on the Enterprise?"_  
  
She couldn't help smiling. "Kaylyn told me. He's the Ops Officer on the flagship. That's terrific, isn't it? I knew he'd do well."  
  
He looked at her for several seconds. _"You had something special there, girl."_  
  
"I know," she said quietly. "But it wouldn't have lasted, Noah. I ... I didn't like myself very much. I didn't respect myself at all. Sooner or later, Harry would have felt the same way."  
  
_"Is that why you're there? So you'll like yourself again?"_  
  
"I suppose so. That wasn't what I was thinking when I came here. I just wanted to make a difference some place. But, yes, I think I'm learning to like myself again."  
  
He exhaled slowly. _"There must be easier ways. What if you catch this disease?"_  
  
"None of the volunteers have ever caught it. We use extreme isolation techniques for everything, and we go through full decontamination four times a day." Her mouth curved slightly. "I think that in a few months, I just might feel clean again."  
  
_"Would have been a whole lot simpler if you'd stayed on Earth and seen the counselors," _he muttered.  
  
"Maybe." She leaned closer to the screen. "But this is the truth, Noah. I'm so glad I came. The facility is thrown together and the work is hard, back-breaking hard, but it's the best thing I've ever done in my life. And the other volunteers are amazing. There are some Cardassians and some Bajorans and some Vulcans and a couple of humans. Everyone is here for the same reason—we just want to help. It's...well, like I said, it's amazing."  
  
He studied her for a long time. _"You do look good,"_ he said after a pause. _"You look like you did, before."_  
  
There was no need for him to explain "before what." They both knew—before the _Equinox_ was stranded in the Delta Quadrant—before they became accomplices to mass murder. "What about the others?" she asked.  
  
_"Angelo's on Bajor, with Tal Celes. They'd be a whole lot happier if they didn't have to cope with in-laws. I haven't heard from Sofin. And Jim,"_ he frowned. _"Jim calls me when he needs credits. He's doing a lot of drinking these days."_  
  
Her heart ached for her former shipmates. None of them were bad people. They had just made a terrible mistake by following orders they knew were wrong. Did that have to haunt them forever? "I should go," she said. "It's just a few hours before I'm on duty again."  
  
_"All right. Will you write, or do I have to wake you up in the middle of the night again?"_  
  
"I'll keep in touch. But Noah—don't tell anyone where I am. Not anyone."  
  
_"I won't."_ His face tightened in an effort to control it. _"You take care, Marla, you hear me? You take care."_  
  
"You, too. Thanks for calling, Noah."  
  
He nodded, and then the screen darkened. She sat for a moment, then rose and began to leave.  
  
Sister walked in before she cleared the room. "I hope it wasn't bad news."  
  
"Not at all," Marla said. "It was an old friend, just catching up."  
  
The young Bajoran smiled. "I'm glad. As long as you're awake, would you mind taking a look at the replicator in the pharmacy? It's acting up again."  
  
"Of course." Marla smiled easily. "I'm here to help."  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Penny


	12. Stardate 56521.4

  
**Dahkur Province, Bajor—_July 9, 2380, Stardate 56521.4_**  
  
"I am stuffed!" moaned Angelo Tessoni, rubbing his stomach and collapsing backwards into his wife's lap.  
  
"Whose fault is that?" Tal Celes laughed. "I don't remember forcing you to eat all that _hasperat_."  
  
"But they're so good," he confided. "You wouldn't mind sharing the recipe with us, would you, Narel?"  
  
"So you can stuff yourself every week?" Kajee Narel replied sweetly.  
  
"Maybe he wants to learn self-discipline—nobly refusing to eat any when Tal cooks them for dinner," Michael Ayala remarked.  
  
"When he cooks them for his own dinner, you mean," Tal corrected. "He's the cook most nights. I do the simple stuff, like breakfast."  
  
"Ah! So he _does_ want to stuff himself every week!" Ro Laren sniggered knowingly.  
  
"Not every week...just every other week," Angelo admitted sheepishly.  
  
Everyone laughed. Tal ruffled up his hair affectionately. Angelo was anything but undisciplined when it came to eating. Although he had enthusiastically dug into the food at the picnic, he certainly hadn't overeaten. His joking pleased her, for Angelo tended to be overly solemn at social gatherings. Of course, most social gatherings were with her own family, who still hadn't welcomed him into the fold.  
  
Once the laughter died down, the five adults sprawled around the blanket became silent, permitting Tal to enjoy the almost perfect day. The weather was beautiful, warm without being oppressive, with a breeze blowing lightly from the north that was redolent with the scents of herbs and flowers. From their vantage point along the river, Tal could see to the other side of the valley, where the forest was reclaiming a scarred area along the hillside. The Cardassians once had had a strip mine operation there. Many meters away, Kajee Lajen and Raul Ayala were banging away with slender racquets at something called a "burdee," trying to send it over a high net. The youngsters shouted encouragement to each other, but without the stridency she'd heard in their voices in the past when they'd played together. Perhaps they were growing up. Both had shot up in height since she'd first met them after _Voyager's_ return to the Alpha Quadrant.  
  
At first, Ayala's other son was nowhere to be seen. Disquieted, Tal scanned the area until she caught a glimpse of him, far apart from the other children, sitting on a rock along the bank of the river. Alone again—as usual. Tal wondered if there was something she could do to include him in the group—one of the groups. He didn't seem any more comfortable with adults than he did with the younger kids.  
  
Her musings were interrupted by the beep of Ro's communicator. "Looks like my ride is here," Deep Space Nine's head security officer said, just before she responded to the summons.  
  
"I'm sorry you couldn't slide out of that meeting today, Ro," Ayala said.  
  
"That's all right. I'm just glad I could squeeze in lunch at least, and this way, I get out of clean-up duty! See you back at the station, Ayala. Good to see you again, Celes, Angelo. Narel—I'll call you next week about that other matter. Bye, everyone!" As Ro headed towards the descending shuttle, she waved to the younger children; but she made a point, Tal was happy to see, of walking over to Luis and saying something which caused him to follow her to where the shuttle was landing. Ro said something else to Luis, which he must have answered, since she laughed and gave him a quick pat on the shoulder before hopping inside the small craft, which promptly flew off.  
  
"Ro is very good with Luis," Kajee said.  
  
"She's one of the few people he has much to say to," Ayala agreed.  
  
"He's still very quiet, isn't he?" Tal asked, watching Luis stroll slowly back in the direction where Raul and Lajen were playing, but never actually joining them.  
  
Ayala grunted noncommittally. For an awkward few seconds, Tal wondered if she should have kept her observation about Luis to herself. The silence was finally broken by Ayala when he asked, "Narel, is it true about the Careys?"  
  
Suppressing a sudden chill of alarm, Tal asked, "What's true about the Careys?"  
  
"Yes, it is true, and it's nothing bad, Celes," Kajee said, a sudden smile lighting her face. "Anne's having another baby!"  
  
"She is? That's wonderful! I'm not at all surprised," Tal said. Joe Carey and his wife had been separated for so many years during _Voyager's_ journey home. It always made her feel good whenever she thought of them.  
  
"I spoke to Sam Wildman last week. She's expecting again, too," Ayala said.  
  
"That's not a surprise, either," Tal said.  
  
"What about the two of you?" Kajee asked pointedly. "Any news yet?"  
  
"Oh, please! We just got married! Let us have a little time for ourselves first before saddling us with diapers!" Angelo said, sitting suddenly erect.  
  
"That's not a denial," Ayala said with a smile.  
  
"We are _not_ expecting a baby—yet," Tal confirmed primly. "Angelo wants to get his construction firm established before we add to our family. Is that enough of a denial for you, Ayala?"  
  
"Accidents will happen," Kajee said knowingly. "Lucky accidents sometimes." The Bajoran woman's voice trailed off as her gaze drifted towards her daughter. Kajee's face assumed a soft, almost melancholy expression. Tal suspected Narel could speak with more authority about accidental pregnancies than Tal really wanted to hear at a function as casual as this picnic.  
  
"What about Tom and B'Elanna? Any news about them?" Angelo asked. "Wouldn't be surprised if they ended up with a dozen kids, considering..."  
  
"Angelo!" Tal laughed, poking him on the shoulder, although she had to agree. Her sleeping quarters had been on Deck Nine on _Voyager_. Her sleep had been disrupted frequently by the antics of the two senior officers.  
  
"No word yet, but Miral is still pretty young." Ayala leaned in closer to Tal. "I've heard rumors about Janeway and Chakotay, though."  
  
"You're kidding!" Tal exclaimed.  
  
"I don't believe it," Angelo said flatly. "She's going to get the first transwarp ship, you just watch."  
  
"Without Chakotay as her first officer? I doubt she'd accept a command without him on board. I heard she might stick at the Academy. If she stays in San Francisco, I could see the two of them starting a family," Ayala said.  
  
"Are they married yet?" Kajee asked.  
  
"Not that I've heard, but that wouldn't necessarily stop them from having a kid together."  
  
"Ayala, this is Kathryn Janeway you're talking about! I don't see her settling down and becoming a mother now, not when they're building a new ship loaded with all the technology _Voyager_ brought back from the Delta Quadrant, and then some," Angelo pointed out. "I won't believe she's gone domesticated on us until I hear someone else has command of that new ship."  
  
"What new ship? The one nobody is supposed to know about, you mean?" Ayala responded facetiously.  
  
"Talk about open secrets!" Angelo said, shaking his head. "I'll bet the Romulans are going nuts trying to get their hands on the specs."  
  
"Do you have any other good gossip, Ayala?" Tal asked.  
  
"I understand Trish Gallaher is taking pre-med Courses. She's hoping to qualify for Starfleet Medical in the next year or two. This way, she can stay on Earth for a while, close to what's left of her family. Her mother and younger brother live in Oregon. And Megan Delaney is going to command school..."  
  
"I thought Jenny was going to command school."  
  
"No—well, maybe it _is_ Jenny. I can't remember which one it is now. One of the Delaneys is going to command school, I know that. Harry Kim is serving on the _Enterprise_\--you heard that, didn't you?"  
  
"No, I didn't! That's great for his career," Angelo said, with so much heartiness Tal felt a pang of regret. She knew Angelo loved her and their life here, but she was well aware her husband had once harbored ambitions of serving on the flagship of the fleet. The Delta Quadrant and Captain Rudy Ransom had robbed him of that chance, and it still rankled.  
  
"It's very good for his career," Ayala replied, not seeming to notice—or perhaps choosing not to notice—Angelo's overly hearty reaction. "And I understand Noah Lessing opened that florist's shop on Luna he used to talk about."  
  
"We heard that, too," Tal said, hesitating a moment before asking, "Any word from Marla?"  
  
"Still missing, as far as I know." Ayala looked away, unable to meet Tal's gaze. "I haven't heard anything about Brian Sofin, either; but Jimmy Morrow turned up in a prison on Alpha Centauri."  
  
The silence that slammed over the group quickly became oppressive. Gossiping about their old crew mates had suddenly lost its appeal. Tal reached over to rub her husband's shoulders. They'd gone all stiff the way they did whenever Angelo was upset, but he curled away from her hand and jumped up. Stretching his arms high in the air before setting his hands on his hips, echoing a favorite position of their former captain, Angelo sighed. At first Tal thought he was looking far into the distance. Then she realized he was studying Luis Ayala, who was now leaning against a tree at the riverbank, who _was_ staring out into space.  
  
"The prisons we build for ourselves can be pretty bad, too," Angelo said quietly, glancing down at his wife. He gave Tal a quick, apologetic smile, picked up a ball Luis had brought with him to the picnic but had not yet used, and walked towards the riverbank while casually tossing the ball into the air.  
  
Until he arrived at Luis' position, Tal, Kajee, and Ayala were silent. Angelo said something to the boy. Tal couldn't hear what he said, and she didn't realize she was holding her breath until Luis responded to her husband's overture by holding out his hand for the ball. He rolled it out onto the ground in front of them, and the pair began to run along the meadow's edge, tapping the ball to each other with their feet.  
  
"How are things going for you, Celes? Really?" Kajee inquired.  
  
Tal sighed. "Professionally, fine. Most people don't seem to mind accepting free building services, even from someone they think is a murderer. My family is another matter. We settled in Derron Province to be near them, but except for my sister Sheron, most of the family won't speak to Angelo. Sheron and I had to beg our parents to come to the wedding. They finally did, but they've never accepted an invitation to our home. They barely tolerate our presence when Sheron invites us to hers."  
  
"That must be very discouraging," Kajee said sympathetically.  
  
" 'Give them time,' I keep telling him, but I'm starting to get impatient with them myself. They know the whole story and still treat him like a monster! What did they really think he could have done? He wasn't an officer! If he refused to take orders or tried to stop the others, he would have been treated like a mutineer! And he never killed any of those aliens himself except in self-defense!"  
  
Ayala reached out his hand and rested it upon Tal's forearm. His touch grounded her, helping her get her temper under control. "It _will_ take time. It took quite a while for the rest of us on _Voyager_ to accept the _Equinox_ crew, too, but we did—eventually."  
  
"You weren't my own family, though," Tal said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.  
  
"I don't know about that," Ayala replied. "That's one of the things I miss. I love having my boys back, but sometimes I wish I could have gotten them back without losing my _Voyager_ family, too."  
  
"If you had the chance, would you return to the Delta Quadrant?" Kajee cautiously asked.  
  
"It wouldn't be the same. Couldn't be, not without Chakotay as first officer, and without Tuvok."  
  
"Without Tuvok? Has something happened to him?" Tal asked.  
  
"The word is he's retired from Starfleet. He's still on Vulcan, and he's never returned to active duty."  
  
"I'm happy for him. He's spent enough time away from his family."  
  
"He has," Ayala agreed, his voice showing evidence of strong feelings which were perfectly understandable, in the light of his long separation from his own.  
  
Tal watched her husband and Luis running down the field, skillfully passing the ball back and forth. Soccer, that was it. Luis had played the game with JJ and Patrick Carey, Tal recalled. When the gap in the conversation became uncomfortable, she finally said, "I don't know, Ayala. It seems we worked for so many years to get home, but now that we _are_ home, life is even more of a struggle!"  
  
"That's how life is, Celes," Kajee said. "Struggle and change—but joy, too, if we allow ourselves to recognize it when we find it."  
  
"Just have to give it time," Ayala agreed. The tall man stood up, nodded to Tal and Kajee, and strolled down to join his older son and Angelo's kicking game. Tal watched them for a few moments, not feeling like she had anything more to add to the conversation. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Kajee's face, which was suffused with strong emotion. Tal felt her own face flush when Kajee glanced back at Tal, catching her at staring.  
  
"Am I that obvious?" Kajee asked.  
  
"No, you're not. I never realized how you felt about him before. Ayala's a wonderful man, Narel, and he deserves some happiness. You both do. Does he know?"  
  
"I don't know if he does or not, but I'm not going to rush things. If it is the will of the Prophets, it will be done," she said philosophically.  
  
"I'll be praying to them for you then," Tal said earnestly.  
  
"As I will for you. But if your family doesn't come around the way they should about Angelo, Celes, you can always move somewhere else where you'd both be more appreciated. A change of scenery might do you good. Maybe that would remind your family about what's really important in life. They almost lost you forever. Your return was a miracle! But if they keep ignoring you, I'd love having you living close to us." She leaned closer and whispered, "Besides, my house could use a little work."  
  
Tal laughed. "I'll keep that in mind, Narel. You don't mind me calling you Narel, do you?"  
  
"Of course not. I call you Celes."  
  
The two Bajoran women relaxed. The gentle breeze blew through their hair. Tal felt more at ease here, with a woman who had been totally unknown to her only a few short months ago, than she had with her own family since her return home. She realized she felt sorrier for her family than for herself. _Voyager's_ return had been a gift from the Prophets, but her parents failed to appreciate it. Narel was right. Maybe a change of scenery was something they needed.  
  
Then she realized something else. "Narel, I think we just got stuck with clean-up duty."  
  
"I think we have," Kajee said with a laugh, reaching for the lid to pop onto one of the food containers. "Are you surprised?"  
  
"Not really. Okay. Anybody else we can gossip about now that everyone else is gone?"  
  
"Well, Michael told me something about a Lieutenant Vorik getting married, or betrothed—or whatever Vulcans call it..."  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by jamelia


	13. Stardate 56553.5

  
**Lecture Hall 13-A, University of Arizona, Tucson—_July 21, 2380, Stardate 56553.5_**  
  
Chakotay's first weeks as a professor of Archaeology had progressed smoothly. As it was the summer term, his schedule was relatively light. His students appeared to be dedicated individuals who shared his enthusiasm. He foresaw no problems with any of them; on the contrary, a few had kept him after class several times for impromptu discussions. He had had to gently discourage them from making a daily habit of it; as much as he enjoyed talking to them, he was eager to get home to San Francisco—and Kathryn.  
  
They had a small but comfortable apartment in one of the main Starfleet housing complexes. Daily, their home became a beehive of activity after 1700 hours, with frequent guests—visiting friends and family members as well as many of Kathryn's students. Chakotay enjoyed the social evenings, but he often thought their home was too small to accommodate all the company—or even the two of them and all their possessions. It was impossible for them to share the tiny cramped office, so Chakotay's PADDS and other materials occupied the spare bedroom. But lack of space was not the major reason he wanted to find quarters elsewhere.  
  
_Quarters_, he thought irritably, _I mean a home. A real home—one of our own._ He'd longed to build a home and put down roots with her ever since their time on New Earth. He was hesitant to bring the subject up with Kathryn, however, deeming everything in their lives still too "up in the air" at this point in time. He was settling down nicely in his position at the university, but Kathryn was (hopefully) nearing the end of her assignment at Starfleet Academy. Though what her next posting would be was still an unknown. Kathryn didn't say much about it, but he knew she found the ambiguity, the sense of being in limbo, very disquieting. She insisted she was happy with her life now. She did give every impression of being contented, but he couldn't help but wonder sometimes if she missed _Voyager_, missed being in space. Talk of building a more permanent home might make her feel more "grounded" in a positive sense, but it could also make her feel trapped. So in the meantime, he held his peace.  
  
Chakotay forced his thoughts back to the present and looked at the group of youngsters who faced him expectantly. After weeks in the classroom, they were at last preparing for their first archaeological excursion, the excavation of ruins at Sherman's Planet. It was the pet project of Dr. Phineas Jones, the department head; and if Chakotay were honest with himself, he was looking forward to the trip as much as his students.  
  
He tapped a control on the podium console and the holographic images disappeared. "So you see, by using minute tools such as microlasers, picks, and brushes, we extract, clean, and identify the artifacts we recover. After the artifacts are catalogued, they are moved into storage so that they can be easily found for later examination and study. Throughout this process, we piece together the questions and puzzles that still remain about the civilization we are studying."  
  
By the look on their faces, each and every student was already envisioning himself at the excavation site. Chakotay smiled and continued, "The actual digging is just as messy an experience as it was centuries ago, although we do have modern conveniences to make it easier. Cave-ins aren't as much of a problem, due to the use of force fields. As power failures may occur, titanium supports are used to shore up the area as well. We leave nothing to chance. Since some excavations are many meters below the surface, we consider safety first and foremost."  
  
A dark young man with arresting green eyes raised his hand. "Professor?"  
  
"Yes, Amado." Chakotay braced himself. Amado was an enthusiastic, promising student from the South American continent. Perhaps a bit too enthusiastic at times—Chakotay had already made a mental note to keep a very close eye on him. Unbridled enthusiasm to the degree this young man possessed could be a liability at a fragile dig.  
  
"Do we dig up everything in the area?"  
  
The class tittered.  
  
"First, the correct term is excavate, not dig up, Amado. Always use the correct terminology. To answer your question, no, we do not excavate everything. We examine that which we find, sometimes with scanning equipment, before we bring anything out of the surrounding soil or rock. _Some things we leave undisturbed."_  
  
Amado took the correction in stride. "But, Professor? What's the point, if we're not going to remove all the artifacts?"  
  
Chakotay bit back a sigh. "There are many reasons, which we'll discuss thoroughly at our next session. Today's class is devoted to the mechanics of the dig itself, and to familiarize ourselves with the various tools we will be using."  
  
To his relief, the young man subsided.  
  
"Any more questions before I continue?" Chakotay glanced around the classroom. "All right. The floor of the excavation is divided into one-meter-square grids so that the exact position of each artifact or fossil may be recorded. Measurements are taken, and imagers are used. The scanners help us design a three dimensional image of the excavation, which is used as a starting point for actual removal, or in some cases instead of." Chakotay manipulated the console, causing another holoimage to appear. "This is a holographic representation of one of the main burial chambers on Myrmidon. Note the points of entry labeled here, here and here."  
  
A young Bolian woman in the first row raised her hand. "Yes, Rixxa?" Chakotay said.  
  
"Is that a recent excavation? I thought the site on Myrmidon was thoroughly explored and excavated over a century ago."  
  
"You're correct, Rixxa. But the Antiquities Authority on Myrmidon considers it a cultural taboo to remove any artifacts from their natural resting place." Chakotay paused. "There was at least one case in the last twenty years when an over-enthusiastic archaeologist was actually arrested for theft for trying to take something off-planet."  
  
Many of the students looked shocked. Chakotay smiled. "Respecting other cultures' beliefs and codes of behavior is an often overlooked part of archaeology." He cleared his throat and glanced surreptitiously at his chronometer. He would have to hurry in order to finish his lecture on time.  
  
"Fossils and artifacts are collected using the small hand tools I mentioned previously, then placed in a separate container labeled with its location data and sent to the laboratory. We often use portable transporter units to retrieve large, and sometimes small but fragile pieces. After each piece is removed from the grid, excavators use screen baskets to sift smaller pieces from the soil. This is the way it's been done for centuries; no better way has ever been found..."  


**\--End Act 2--**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Soquilii9


	14. Stardate 56629.7 (Act 3)

**\--Act 3: August-September\--**  
  
**Excavation Site-B, Sherman's Planet —_August 18, 2380, Stardate 56629.7_**  
  
"Professor Chakotay! Come quickly!"  
  
Chakotay shifted his weight from the shelter doorway where he had been leaning, idly checking the skies above Sherman's Planet for rain, which was common in this hemisphere at this time of year. "What is it you've found, Amado?"  
  
"Something more than the pot shards we've been cataloging for days, that's for sure," Amado exclaimed excitedly. "Something below the present level."  
  
Chakotay hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should contact Dr. Jones, who had taken a small group to another site 150 kilometers away. Remembering Amado's tendency to let his enthusiasm get the better of him, however, he decided not to disturb the senior scientist just yet.  
  
"Have you set the grid?" Chakotay asked.  
  
"Yes, señor."  
  
Chakotay stepped quickly to keep pace with Amado. As expected, during the past two weeks the young man had shown himself to be a bit too eager, even somewhat careless, in his methods. He followed Amado and descended the ladder to the first level, then took a lower ladder down to the most recent dig. A meticulously placed grid of tightly stretched wire was suspended between sunken stakes, surrounding a deep, oblong hollow in the grainy soil. Chakotay automatically checked the suspension wires and was glad to see that all seemed to be in order. Then he glanced at the pit itself and froze.  
  
Within the hollow, the faint outline of an endoskeleton was apparent, and bits of fossilized bone had already been exposed by the student's brushes.  
  
Amado glanced up at his teacher expectantly. "Professor?" he asked uncertainly.  
  
Chakotay stood silently staring at the remains. With a sigh, he turned to Amado. The young man assumed he was being tested and launched into a detailed narrative, stressing the importance of the find.  
  
"This is Sector 6, Level 2. The first evidence we've seen of indigenous habitation here on Sherman, and it's humanoid! It's part of an ancient cemetery—a burial ground! Initial scans show row upon row of graves at this level, going back into Sector 5. It's got to be an earlier civilization than the first known human or Klingon colonization of this planet. My team started in right away on this one."  
  
Chakotay shook his head. "Once again, Amado, you've moved too quickly. This gravesite should never have been exposed. The information we gain about this culture from studying burial customs and beliefs is invaluable, but we need not disturb the burial ground to gather the information. Scan this sector, study the scans for what they can tell us, then check Sectors 1 through 3 to the northeast for physical artifacts, such as public structures and dwellings—maybe a communal well."  
  
"I told you," Rixxa said, a smug expression on her face.  
  
"You're just annoyed you didn't find it first," Amado retorted. "You'd have done the same thing."  
  
Rixxa didn't deign to answer.  
  
Chakotay stepped closer to the opened grave, knelt and gently returned a misplaced metatarsal to its rightful place. He rose and dusted his hands. "Restore the grave, cover it well, and remove the grid. Better secure the area so no one else will make the same mistake."  
  
"Mistake?" Amado protested, defiance creeping into his voice. Chakotay could tell what he was thinking—a fascinating find, and the Professor was going to make them cover it up again? "What mistake? It's all archaeology. We can't get hands-on with scans, Professor. We can't learn anything from just scans."  
  
"Yes, you can," Chakotay shot back. "There's a lot to be learned here, and not just about archaeology. Nothing is black and white, Amado. Our responsibility here is to study the dwellings, the tools, the lifestyles and habits of any civilizations we may find on this planet. Although I'm sure they can tell us much," he conceded, gesturing toward the grave, "and I _have_ investigated the remains of intelligent beings before, they were not part of a burial ground, and it's our responsibility never to disturb a cemetery—anywhere. Weren't you paying attention to my lecture on the subject?"  
  
"You spoke about cultural taboos of removing artifacts—"  
  
"And I also spoke about treating cultures—and individual beings—with respect! This is a cemetery, not a laboratory." With an effort, Chakotay forced himself to calm down. "The only circumstances under which we would investigate would be if we came across remains that were not properly interred. And afterward, we would ensure that they receive a dignified burial."  
  
"Yes, but—these remains can tell us so much! Their diet, evidence of physical rituals, the diseases that killed them—to cover all this up would be such a waste," Amado lamented. "The sediment layers indicate that this predated the first human and Klingon settlers by more than a millennium!"  
  
Chakotay exhaled sharply. He was weary of the debate and weary of Amado. He turned and fixed the young man with a stern gaze.  
  
"All right," he began. "Listen carefully, Amado. Let's do what the textbooks tell you to do. Let's dig them all up. Let's study, dissect, scrape and carbon-date every last bone so we can learn all about them. We'll catalog everything and lay the pieces in impersonal boxes in a laboratory. Know what happens next?"  
  
Amado shook his head, bewildered at the verbal onslaught. A light rain began to fall.  
  
"I'll tell you," Chakotay said. "The next step is to get on a shuttle and travel to _your _home planet. You must have family buried there. Let's dig _them_ up and study, dissect, scrape, and carbon-date their bones. Perhaps we'll learn why their descendent is so adamant about desecrating their graves. That, you _won't_ find in a textbook."  
  
Chastised, Amado nodded his understanding, but his unquenchable enthusiasm and drive—Chakotay was tempted to describe it as sheer stubbornness—once again surfaced. "Señor, must we then abandon the entire level?"  
  
"Yes," Chakotay said shortly. The rain was coming down harder now. "The imaging scans you took should be sufficient. Let's move on."  
  
"But what about the associated funerary objects? Can't we get—"  
  
"Do as I say or you're off this dig." Chakotay stalked away, leaving Amado standing by himself in the rain, gazing longingly at the open grave.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Soquilii9


	15. Stardate 56644.6

  
**Starfleet Housing Complex, San Francisco—_August 23, 2380, Stardate 56644.6_**  
  
Janeway muttered under her breath as she searched the database in her home computer. She knew the information she wanted was there somewhere. In fact, she'd come across it only last week while compiling data for a lecture on an unrelated topic. Cursing herself for her shortsightedness in not flagging the file earlier, she almost didn't hear the chime of the comm unit.  
  
With a last frustrated glance at the untidy desk top, she reached over and activated the unit, then smiled delightedly. "Chakotay! This is certainly an unexpected pleasure! I didn't think I'd hear from you again before you come home at the end of the week." Her smile wavered at the expression on his face. "Is something wrong?"  
  
_"Not exactly,"_ Chakotay said. She could see the corner of a prefab shelter behind him. A swell of low-rising hills were just visible in the distance. _"But the dig's been extended an additional week. Dr. Jones was looking at the preliminary surveys of the other excavation site—"  
_  
"The one you finished with already?"  
  
_"Yes. He thinks some of the readings we took show evidence of yet another level, below the foundations of the temple, and therefore warrant a closer look than we had been planning..."_  
  
"Which means additional time," she finished. "I see."  
  
Chakotay smiled ruefully. _"We should have expected something like this to happen. You said it yourself, Kathryn, the man's a fanatic when it comes to Sherman's Planet."_  
  
Janeway rolled her eyes. "You'd think, though, that in the previous two expeditions he would have already discovered most of the worthwhile information."  
  
_"Does the phrase 'tip of the iceberg' mean anything to you?"  
_  
She groaned. "Unfortunately, yes. It means you're going to be stuck there a lot longer than anticipated."  
  
_"It shouldn't be that bad,"_ Chakotay said reassuringly. _"Just another week. Two at most."_  
  
Janeway glanced at the calendar. "Oh, then that means you're going to miss the Federation Geographical and Astronometrical Society gala."  
  
_"Sorry, but it can't be helped."_  
  
"I know." She gave him a mock frown. "You could try to look a little less relieved, you know."  
  
_"Sorry,"_ he said again, this time flashing her a grin. _"But seriously, even if I wasn't having fun slogging through the mud and rain, why would I want to spend an evening listening to a bunch of boring speeches?"_  
  
"Maybe because your fiancée is the keynote speaker?" she said, an ominous note in her voice.  
  
_"Good point."_  
  
She laughed. "Don't worry about it, Chakotay. I'll be fine on my own."  
  
_"I'm sure you will be,"_ he answered. _"Hey, maybe you can ask your sister to go with you."_  
  
"Phoebe?" Janeway said incredulously. "Her interest in celestial phenomena and speeches concerning them is even less than yours."  
  
_"Maybe you can try to bribe her,"_ Chakotay suggested.  
  
"Maybe...or maybe I'll have to find myself a more willing escort."  
  
_"Should I be worried?"_ he asked, his eyebrows raised.  
  
"Not at all." Janeway said firmly. She hesitated for a moment before asking, "Is everything all right otherwise? No problems at the dig, or with any of the students?"  
  
Chakotay smiled, but Janeway thought she could see some worry lines in his forehead. "_Nothing unforeseen."_  
  
She didn't push. "Listen, I don't want to keep you—I'm sure you've got a lot of things to take care of."  
  
_"Unfortunately, you're correct. I miss you, you know."_ He put his hand up in a familiar gesture.  
  
Janeway kissed her fingertips before touching the part of the screen where his hand was. "I miss you, too. Hurry home, darling."  
  
_"I'll do my best,"_ he said. _"Chakotay out."_   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Rocky


	16. Stardate 56678.4

  
**Utopia Planitia Shipyards—_September 5, 2380, Stardate 56678.4_**  
  
"Wow."  
  
Lieutenant Avalon Fererra couldn't help a small smile at that reverently spoken word from the youthful ensign by her side. Though the ensign's expression of awe was justified, he was clearly young enough, and new enough to Starfleet, to be so electrified by the sight of the newly constructed starship. It loomed before them at the end of the duraglass-enclosed connecting tube, its smooth and seemingly endless expanse of hull still a patchwork of dull gunmetal gray and the freshly applied paint commonly referred to as "space-blind white." It was a work even now in progress, and one of the square-bodied robotic painters was visible doing its magnetic crawl along the widest edge of the ship's saucer, leaving a white trail in its path.  
  
The ensign looked down, behind them, and back at the starship, as if trying to take it all in at once. "What a view!"  
  
That was the point of the tube that stretched nearly a hundred meters between the outer docking ring of Utopia Planitia and the starship. The ship's cargo transporters were operational, but most elected to take the walk to enjoy the view. Not only of the ship, but also of the massive station behind the outer docks, with its central section studded by fifty-two levels of lights. There was also the vista of open space that surrounded them and the reddish surface of Mars "below" them, where the white spheres of the easternmost of the Mars Colonies were visible—and all of it blocked only by the narrow strip of walkway beneath their feet. The whole effect was that of a suspension bridge through space.  
  
"Look!"  
  
The ensign pointed and Lieutenant Fererra looked at the round protuberance of the bridge perched at the very top of the ship. Several suited figures, attached to the hull by magnetic boots, moved slowly around the bridge viewports. They looked oddly like window washers in space, but they were actually the artisans whose trade was painting the more intricate markings, lettering, and design motifs on starships, both civilian and Starfleet. They would work on this ship for weeks, moving steadily down the hull until they finished with the ship's name and registry along the underside. Then they would move on to their next contracted job.  
  
"Imagine spending your life doing that, with only an environmental suit between you and space."  
  
The ensign's tone indicated that he was caught between admiration and incredulity. Lieutenant Fererra shared those feelings. Like the robotic painter, the workers used a compound with magnetic bonding properties. While there were obvious drawbacks to working outside of gravity and atmosphere, the near vacuum of space did prevent dripping and other movement of the paint, preserving the exact strokes of the artisans' work. So they said. Most of all, the lieutenant suspected they simply enjoyed the sense of freedom and openness of working in space—literally—perhaps as much as she enjoyed the freedom of flying through space with the stars surrounding her, albeit with a ship's hull between.  
  
The two officers followed the tube beneath the hull, and the artisans disappeared from view. Lieutenant Fererra's smile faded as she looked at the ship looming much closer now, as she recalled the reason she'd requested this temporary assignment. The ensign remained silent as they traversed the rest of the tube, perhaps caught up in his own thoughts, or perhaps concentrating on his steps, since those new to the connecting tubes were often a bit disconcerted by the sensation of walking on a narrow path over empty space. Either way, she was grateful.  
  
A minute later they stepped from the tube into the shuttlebay, and she nearly collided with another young ensign—why did they all look like they were still in high school these days, she wondered? The departing ensign glanced up and murmured a quick "Sorry, Lieutenant," as he rushed past, his attention quickly returning to the PADD in his hand. She barely acknowledged his apology as she appraised her surroundings.  
  
The shuttlebay was larger than she'd expected, but this was the second generation Intrepid class design—362 meters long as opposed to the older 344 meters, sixteen decks instead of fifteen, a crew complement of 165 instead of 150, and a soon-to-be-installed secondary transwarp coil—housed in a third nacelle—in addition to the standard warp engines. She'd memorized the specs.  
  
Right now, just about everything appeared unfinished, from the unpainted bulkheads to the plastic-covered depressions on the deck where console platforms and shuttle mag-lock blocks would eventually be installed. The doors across the bay that led into the interior corridor of Deck 11 were fixed in the open position, and the control panel that would operate them was still an exposed expanse of unconnected circuits.  
  
"Goodbye, sir."  
  
The lieutenant glanced at the ensign who'd accompanied her. "Goodbye, Ensign..."  
  
"Chao," the ensign supplied.  
  
Though they'd entered the connecting tube together, they hadn't exchanged formal introductions. "Lieutenant Fererra," she said. "You're assigned to Engineering?"  
  
It wasn't a difficult deduction, given the gold uniform, and Ensign Chao confirmed it. "This is my first assignment. I'm hoping when I get a ship posting, it'll be here." He was one of many who were hoping for an eventual posting here, Lieutenant Fererra knew, all attracted to the legendary status of the ship's namesake. Her lips twisted a little, though she murmured, "Good luck with that." She didn't wait for a reply, but left Ensign Chao to make his way to the flight stairs that connected the bay to Main Engineering. She entered the main corridor, her heels clicking on the deck where the carpet had yet to be laid. Two engineers gave her openly appraising looks as she passed, but she ignored them. She was relieved though not surprised when the turbolift doors slid gracefully open at her approach. The turbolift system was always one of the first to be put into full operation, so officers assigned to the ship wouldn't be forced to crawl through kilometers of Jeffries tubes to get from place to place.  
  
"Bridge," she ordered as she stepped inside.  
  
There was no verbal acknowledgment from the computer—it was no doubt in strictly basic operation mode—but the turbolift began to move, slowly. The lieutenant leaned against the rear railing and exhaled the tense breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She was actually here.  
  
That thought made her tense up again. This wasn't the original ship of course—that vessel was in dry dock at McKinley Station, soon to be moved to a nearby site where it would be put on display as a museum, an honor befitting its now legendary status.  
  
A small, derisive snort escaped her lips, and her hands clutched the railing tighter. This might not be the same ship, but the design was nearly identical, with only a few changes and upgrades. And the name was the same, even with the additional number tacked onto it.  
  
_Voyager_.  
  
The name that had flashed across seemingly every news vid and tabloid story for the past year, that had spawned dozens of holonovels celebrating the exploits of its "intrepid" crew (that play on words purely intentional and apparently considered clever in the minds of the sensation-seeking holoauthors). The victorious return of the ship from the Delta Quadrant, meant its resident heroes were welcomed back with open arms, given redemption and a second chance at glory. In one fell swoop, they were forgiven their traitorous pasts, and transformed into nothing short of near deities.  
  
The lieutenant straightened abruptly and unclenched her teeth. Her jaw would ache if she kept that up. She knew _that_ from experience. When she'd accepted this assignment—after she'd lobbied hard for it—she'd told herself she wouldn't fall back on old habits, punishing herself with her anger and resentment. She wasn't the one who'd destroyed so many lives with one reckless, remorseless action.  
  
The turbolift had stopped, and she had no idea how long it had been motionless. She took a deep, calming breath and willed back the impassive demeanor she'd worked so hard to perfect over the past few months. More than once she'd wished she were a Vulcan, so it would come easy—so her composure would be more than just skin deep. But she wasn't a Vulcan. She reminded herself again that she was here for a reason, and she'd waited a long time for the opportunity.   
  
She drew strength from her resolve and stepped forward, pressing the manual release. There were obviously still a few kinks to work out, but the door slid open immediately, and she stepped out of the lift.  
  
Like the shuttlebay, the bridge was in an unfinished state. There was no carpet, no railings around the command center, and no command chairs. Most of the status screens were blank, and there were open circuit panels everywhere—at consoles, in the walls, and in the deck plating. A dozen or more officers were busy at various stations, and two engineers were installing a chair at the tactical console. The place was a flurry of activity punctuated by voices, the whirring of tools, and the beep of PADDS.  
  
She observed it all as she walked around the command center, returning a polite nod from one of the officers who looked up as she passed. There were two officers at the helm—though she revised that quickly to three, noting the person who was half-hidden working under the console. The two standing officers looked up as she approached and immediately offered her friendly smiles.  
  
"You must be Lieutenant Fererra," the brown-haired lieutenant j.g. said. He held out his hand. "I'm Lieutenant Gerry Culhane, and this is Ensign Delia O'Brien."  
  
Lieutenant Fererra shook their hands, noting that pretty auburn-haired Ensign O'Brien was another one who looked like she'd come here straight from the Academy, perhaps on an advanced placement program for incredibly bright teenagers.  
  
"We've been expecting you," Culhane continued. "Welcome to the helm and navigation team."  
  
"Thank you." Lieutenant Fererra glanced meaningfully at the figure reclined under the console, whose long legs indicated a male officer.  
  
"That's our esteemed team leader," Culhane said, following her gaze. "He can't hear anything over his music. Hey, Tom!"  
  
Culhane punctuated those last words with a small kick to the prone man's leg. It was not the usual way to get the attention of one's superior officer, and that officer—a full lieutenant according to his pips—slid out from under the console with an annoyed look on his face and barely missed banging his head on the underside.  
  
"Geez, Gerry!" The lieutenant pulled something from his ear as he spoke, and music blared out of the small personal music device. Lieutenant Fererra looked at the device, bemused. Given the decibel level, he presumably visited the medical officer regularly to have his eardrums repaired. She continued to stare at it, unable to look yet at the man who'd discarded it.  
  
"I almost had the circuits aligned, and then I dropped the spanner!"  
  
"Sorry," Culhane said, his tone unrepentant. "I just wanted to let you know that our new team member has arrived."  
  
Any real irritation the team's lead officer might have felt wasn't apparent when he swiveled to look up at her. The odd, old-fashioned music with lyrics about a "rocket man" faded from Lieutenant Fererra's awareness as his eyes locked with hers. She couldn't avoid his gaze, and she could no longer think of him abstractly as "the lieutenant" or "the lead officer," not when he was looking right at her. Tom Paris—gifted Starfleet pilot, disgraced former officer, womanizing drifter, Maquis mercenary, convicted traitor, and once again esteemed Starfleet pilot—it was as if he'd traveled in a circle, or, more accurately, reversed course back to the beginning, erasing everything in between as if it had never even happened.  
  
He looked different from the vids she'd seen, most from the early months after _Voyager's_ return. His hair was longer and mussed-looking, as if he couldn't quite control the wave in it. It made him look younger than she knew he was—even innocent, which almost made her laugh, except that she was too frozen to get anything out of her throat. But the striking blue eyes that had stared out of countless news vids were the same, bright and clear, unclouded by shadows from the past, or by remorse or regret.  
  
"Lieutenant Avalon Fererra, I presume," Tom Paris said, his voice as friendly and cheerful as his gaze, his smile genuine. He pushed himself to his feet. "I'm Lieutenant Tom Paris, but you can just call me Tom. Welcome to _Voyager_."  
  
She looked at his outstretched hand for only a second and surprised herself. With hardly a flinch, she accepted the proffered hand, her lips curving into the natural-looking smile she'd practiced numerous times in the mirror.  
  
"Thank you." She shook his hand firmly, her grip as strong as his. "And you can just call me Ava."   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Julie


	17. Stardate 56687.8

  
**Transwarp Propulsion Lab, Utopia Planitia—_September 8, 2380, Stardate 56687.8_**  
  
B'Elanna looked at the viewscreen, though she paid little attention to the distortion that made the star streaks little more than blurred colors. She glanced at her PADD again. So far, no shield distortions. The continual minor readjustments that had been necessary during her transwarp experience on _Voyager_ had eventually weakened the shield harmonics and allowed the resonant frequency to break down, leaking tachyons into the warp core. That, along with the intermittent subsonic waves that had compromised the integrity of the secondary systems, had led to the ultimate failure of the original _Voyager's_ transwarp coil, resulting in catastrophic damage throughout the ship. At least, that was the theory Geordi and she had finally embraced; if this simulation was successful, the theory would be vindicated.  
  
"Looking good so far," Geordi said beside her. He was occupying the captain's chair on their simulated Intrepid class starship. Rane Darsi manned the helm, Btak was at tactical, and Joe Carey was at the Engineering station. They all took turns at various posts during the simulations.  
  
"Just a few more minutes." Geordi leaned back comfortably in his chair. "So, how is the state visit going?"  
  
Geordi was as transparent as Tom in his efforts to divert her attention. B'Elanna shook her head. "Owen Paris is an admiral, not a monarch. And it's going well. Owen and Alicia haven't been here in a while, so they've been exploring the new civilian promenade. And they've been spending a lot of time with Miral."  
  
"I bet they're having the time of their lives."  
  
B'Elanna smiled. "They are." Tom's parents adored their grandchildren, and Miral was no exception. "They've also been showing her some of the sights on Mars."  
  
"Ah, Mars," Geordi said. "There's always air skiing down Olympus Mons. Have they tried that yet?"  
  
B'Elanna snorted. "You sound just like Tom. And don't you dare mention that to him!"  
  
Geordi laughed. "I did it while I was at the Academy. It's not a dangerous as it sounds."  
  
"Hmmph. Miral's not even two yet."  
  
"Two minutes until exit from the conduit," Darsi announced from the helm.  
  
B'Elanna studied her PADD, then glanced at Joe. "Everything looks perfect," he replied to her silent question, giving her an encouraging smile.  
  
"Keep your fingers crossed, folks," Geordi said.  
  
Everyone was silent for the next minute or so. B'Elanna tried to ignore the tension in her shoulders. She focused on her PADD, looking for the tiniest indication of a distortion, but none surfaced.  
  
"Any helm issues?" Geordi asked Darsi, sounding unusually tense himself.  
  
Darsi shook his head. "She's steady."  
  
"Approaching conduit opening," Btak announced from tactical.  
  
B'Elanna held her breath as they crossed the transwarp threshold back into normal space. The ship didn't so much as quiver during the transition.  
  
After several seconds of total silence, Joe spoke first, raising his fist in the air. "Yes!"  
  
"All available figures indicate success," Btak added in her precise manner.  
  
"You can't get better than perfect, boys and girls," Geordi said.  
  
A quick cheer went up. B'Elanna joined in silently, though there was still a lot of work to go yet. "The prototype ship is almost ready," she said. "We should be able to install the coil within a week."  
  
"We'll break until tomorrow," Geordi announced. "We can all use some down time to take in our success before the next phase."  
  
Joe sent Geordi a grateful look. B'Elanna knew he tried to get home to Anne as often as possible, though more than a few nights recently he'd ended up staying on the station.  
  
"Computer, end simulation."  
  
The computer complied with B'Elanna's command, and the holochamber returned to its familiar grid pattern. Everyone prepared to depart, sharing handshakes and murmured congratulations in the process. Btak was studying her PADD intently as she left, no doubt planning an evening of mental calculations. The Denobulan was devoted to her work, and her proficiency in mathematical physics was beyond compare.  
  
"See you tomorrow, Chief."  
  
"Have a good night, Joe," B'Elanna said as he rushed out to catch the next Mars-Earth shuttle, which would get him home in time for a late dinner with his family. Rane Darsi was right behind Joe, probably on his way to one of the station's nightclubs. The Betazoid was handsome, urbane, and gregarious; and he enjoyed a busy social life. Despite that, he always arrived every morning alert and ready to work.  
  
B'Elanna turned to Geordi as they walked out together. "If you aren't busy tonight, you're welcome for dinner. We can have an impromptu celebration. I'm sure Tom would be willing to replicate his gourmet specialty—pizza."  
  
Geordi chuckled. "That's very tempting. Tom replicates a fine pizza. But I actually have another engagement tonight."  
  
B'Elanna's eyebrows rose. "Really? What kind of engagement?"  
  
"I'm meeting a friend who's visiting the station," Geordi said.  
  
From that cryptic answer, B'Elanna assumed it wasn't Miles O'Brien, who'd lent his expertise to the transwarp project a couple of times. She'd wondered several times why Geordi wasn't seriously involved with anyone, given his affable nature. Tom had suggested setting him up with several different female friends, but B'Elanna had balked at that idea. It wasn't any of her business; and if he had a friend from Earth visiting, maybe his romantic life was going just fine without any uninvited interference.  
  
"B'Elanna?" Geordi waved a hand in front of her face. "Should I assume that your mind is working on something other than transwarp theories at the moment?"  
  
"I'm not going to ask any questions," B'Elanna assured him. "But have fun."  
  
"Thanks," Geordi said. "You too. Celebrate with your husband and that beautiful little girl of yours."  
  
They exited the transwarp lab, and that's when the truth finally hit her. She stopped in mid-stride, stunned, while Geordi looked at her with concern. "B'Elanna?"  
  
"Geordi...we really did it, didn't we?"  
  
Geordi grinned at her wide-eyed amazement. "The test flight will confirm it, but, yes, we really did it. A fully functional transwarp coil. A revolution in space flight. Just think, a hundred years from now our names will be in all the history books."  
  
B'Elanna threw herself at him and hugged him hard. Geordi let out a laugh that ended in a slightly strangled grunt as he hugged her back. B'Elanna didn't care about history books, and she didn't think Geordi did either. She'd worked on transwarp theory in one way or another for nearly seven years, and Geordi had developed his own theories off and on for even longer. It had taken a great deal of work and a lot of failures, but it was all worth it for this moment.  
  
She stepped back and repeated with no small amount of pride, "We did it."  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Julie


	18. Stardate 56703.3

  
**Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco—_September 14, 2380, Stardate 56703.3_**  
  
"Admiral Hayes, Admiral Ch'tin is here."  
  
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Hayes told his assistant. "Send him in, please."  
  
A moment later the head of Starship Fabrication and Design entered the office. "Ah, Ch'tin," Hayes said, gesturing to a small bench he'd placed in front of the desk for this express purpose. "Have a seat."  
  
Ch'tin raised a foreleg in greeting and quickly hopped onto the bench in one smooth motion. Once perched there, he neatly folded his other pairs of limbs against his body. Ch'tin was a Locastan, an insectoid species, whose gleaming black exoskeleton covering the thorax and abdomen did not allow any bending. The vestigial wings on his dorsal surface were covered by the specially tailored uniform. There were few Locastans in Starfleet, but it was an indisputable fact they had few equals when it came to design and engineering.  
  
Hayes waited until his guest had finished making himself comfortable. "You're here with some good news, I hope."  
  
Ch'tin clicked his mandibles together excitedly. "Good news, indeed! I am happy to report that another successful milestone has been reached at the Transwarp Propulsion Lab."  
  
Hayes leaned forward. "I know the simulation last week went well. I thought the trial in the actual test shuttle wasn't scheduled for another few days."  
  
"Captain La Forge insisted we move it up. He was confident that the transwarp coil would perform just as well outside the lab."  
  
"Well?"  
  
"He was right." Ch'tin lifted a PADD with one of his midlegs, while continuing to gesture excitedly with both forelegs. "I have the results of the first series right here."  
  
Hayes took the PADD. "Excellent. When do you think you'll be ready to install transwarp in the new starship?"  
  
Ch'tin turned his multi-faceted ruby-red eyes toward Hayes. "One series of successful runs does not guarantee that all the wrinkles have been ironed out!" he chattered. "There must be at least—"  
  
Hayes cut in, "Yes, Ch'tin, I'm aware that further testing of the transwarp is needed. But I'd like to know when you think the new ship will be ready for launch—say, December?"  
  
Ch'tin rose up on his large hindlegs. "Aside from the transwarp installation, there is a great deal that still needs to be done before you can even think of launching the _Voyager_ _Two_!"  
  
"The main computer systems are in already, as are many of the secondary functions, aren't they?" asked Hayes.  
  
"Yes, but there are myriad other details that need to be attended to," Ch'tin protested. "Some of the plasma relays, secondary air and water recirculation tubing, heating conduits—and then there are mundane things such as bulkheads, door frames, carpeting, furniture, lighting fixtures..."  
  
"Three months from now," Hayes said, rising from his chair. "The end of December 2380 was the tentative date your people gave me when this project was first conceived."  
  
Ch'tin settled back onto his bench. " 'Tentative,' Admiral. It was never a firm date. And I say now it will not be possible."  
  
"This is ridiculous!" Hayes said, as he came around the front of the desk. "The Utopia Planitia yards turn out approximately ten new starships per year. The only thing that's different in this case is the third nacelle to house the transwarp coils."  
  
"Not entirely correct," Ch'tin broke in with a series of clicks. "The ship also makes use of numerous other Delta Quadrant technology brought back by the original _Voyager.._."  
  
"...and since Captain La Forge joined the project a year and a half ago, the Transwarp Propulsion Lab finally began to make real progress, " continued Hayes as if there had been no interruption. "With the addition of Lieutenant Commander Torres, they've been making tremendous strides!"  
  
"The transwarp coils are not the problem, Admiral."  
  
"Then what is?"  
  
"Finishing the physical structure of the ship, as I detailed just before. Here." Ch'tin thrust the PADD at him again.  
  
Hayes took it and began to read, then looked up in surprise. "Is that all? Put on additional staff."  
  
"We can't, Admiral," Ch'tin objected. "We already have devoted much of our manpower to this project, not just in the case of _Voyager_, but for the rest of the ships in the new improved Intrepid class."  
  
Hayes knew that they didn't simply build one ship at a time, that there were at present two other 'sister ships' similar to the _Voyager II_ in the early stages of construction. He waved Ch'tin's words away. "What about bringing in outside contractors?"  
  
"To work on the _Voyager Two?"_  
  
"Why not? You said yourself it's mostly mundane physical details. Hire an outside company to provide and install the carpets and lighting fixtures and other furnishings."  
  
"You can't be serious!" Ch'tin said. "Non-Starfleet personnel working on Starfleet equipment and ships! What about security?"  
  
Hayes let some of his exasperation show. "They won't be working on any sensitive details or in any restricted areas. We already have civilians working in Utopia Planitia in other capacities, so why not here?" He smiled suddenly. "For all you know, they may do a better job than your engineering techs."  
  
Ch'tin lifted himself off the bench and landed on the floor with a soft thud. "Why are you in such a hurry, Admiral? Have you even selected a captain for the new ship yet?"  
  
Hayes ignored the first part of the question. "As a matter of fact," he said, "I do have someone in mind for that position."   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Rocky


	19. Stardate 56709.8

  
**Main Mess Hall, Starfleet Academy—_September 16, 2380, Stardate 56709.8_**  
  
Ordinarily, Chakotay would have preferred having lunch someplace other than on the grounds of Starfleet Academy; but he acknowledged that he had no choice if he wanted to see Kathryn, who was busy with the start of the fall semester. He would have been happier in a quiet restaurant with a quality menu, but after weeks of freeze-dried rations and only limited access to replicators on the ship during his expedition to Sherman's Planet, even a simple sandwich and Vulcan Plomeek soup in the campus mess hall sounded pretty good. Kathryn, he noticed, was trying the Bajoran menu today—with the addition of a large slice of pecan pie.  
  
They drew their orders from the replicator and took seats in the quietest corner they could find.  
  
"Kathryn, for the tenth time, I'm _really_ sorry I missed the G.A.S. conference." He took a sip of his iced tea. "What was the title of your speech again?"  
  
Kathryn laughed. "That's an interesting use of the acronym. G.A.S. is right on several counts, but 'hot air' might have suited it better. I was flattered to be asked to speak, but once I got there, it all seemed a terrible bore without you. The best part of the whole evening was meeting Ensign Ford's sister. Do you remember Lily Ford, from _Voyager?"_  
  
"The pool shark?" Chakotay asked with a grin. "As I recall, she really gave you a run for your credits." His grin faded as he recalled something else—how Ensign Ford died in the line of duty early in the voyage. Hastily, he said, "And the speech itself?"  
  
"Well, the title was 'Astronomical Phenomena of the Delta Quadrant.' It went over quite favorably, if I may say so, at least with everyone but my sister."  
  
Chakotay smiled, well aware of Kathryn's relationship with Phoebe: close and loving, even though the two were as different as night and day.  
  
"If it hadn't been for the delay at the excavation site, I would have been there," he said sincerely. He quickly checked the contents of his sandwich—tofu, cucumber and tomato—and breathed a sigh of relief. The last time he had ordered a vegetarian sandwich, the replicator had given him ham and cheese.  
  
"I know you would have," she said. "And I promise I'll stop trying to make you feel guilty! Now, why don't you tell me what went wrong out at the dig? You've been rather evasive since you got back, but I can tell something happened that upset you."  
  
"I can't hide very much from you, can I?" Chakotay said, putting his sandwich down.  
  
"No, you can't."  
  
"I don't know if you would exactly call it a problem, but I did find this rather disturbing..." Chakotay proceeded to relate the incident with Amado and the gravesite to her in detail. "And what gets me," he said at the end, "is even though we'd gone over this before we left, even after I told him right then and there why I didn't want the remains disturbed, he still wanted to argue with me about it!"  
  
"He was eager, Chakotay, wanting to impress his professor by being the first to make a discovery," Janeway said as she unrolled her napkin, placing the Starfleet issue fork and spoon on the table. "He wasn't trying to challenge your authority."  
  
"No, of course not. But there's something else you may not be aware of." Chakotay bit into his sandwich and chewed while gathering his thoughts. "Four hundred years ago a law was passed in what was then the United States of America. From the time the indigenous peoples had first been usurped from their homeland, the white settlers thought nothing of disturbing their burial grounds. The disrespected Indian dead became sources of curiosity, items of both study and display. As the country grew more enlightened and the tribes became more assertive, the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act was passed by the government. This law, which balanced tribal customs with the need for scientific research, protected the remains of Native American people from being treated solely as objects of scientific curiosity.  
  
"It's still part of Federation law," Chakotay said before pausing to take another mouthful. "I believe it should be applied to any race or species on any planet. It's only right, and I'm trying to teach my students to do the right thing, not just what's 'acceptable.'"  
  
Janeway nodded in understanding. "The pursuit of knowledge shouldn't usurp the rights of other beings. And you _did_ gain enough information, without compromising your beliefs. I seem to recall that you employed similar methods when you were my first officer on board _Voyager_," she said with a smile.  
  
Chakotay felt his spirits lift somewhat. Talking things out with her always made him feel better. "I just wish I hadn't lost my temper with Amado—he's brilliant, but he just doesn't know when to back down." Chakotay stirred his soup. "Too pushy by far. Someone needs to rein him in."  
  
"I'll wager you've been the one assigned to do it."  
  
He nodded. "Despite the problems we had, the expedition was very successful. Funny thing is, Amado was right—there _was_ an indigenous civilization on Sherman's Planet, dating back before any known colonization of the planet. My students are still studying the data."  
  
"I'm glad it was a successful expedition." Kathryn, having eaten her pecan pie first was only now starting on the _hasperat_.  
  
"So how are your classes going?" Chakotay asked.  
  
"Very well. You're not the only one with brilliant students." Kathryn took a large forkful of hasperat and promptly began to choke. Chakotay passed a glass of water to her and she took it gratefully. "Oh my, that's strong!" she said when she was able to speak again.  
  
"I'd go easy on that, if I were you," he advised. "Made fresh by a Bajoran, it's fairly good, but replicated, it's liable to make you sick."  
  
"I agree!" Kathryn pushed the hasperat aside in favor of her salad.  
  
"Can I get you anything else?" he asked, concerned. "Is pie and salad going to be enough?"  
  
Kathryn laughed. "Considering that I don't always eat lunch, yes, I can assure you, this is more than enough."  
  
Chakotay shook his head and then asked the question that had been looming over them both for weeks. "I gather there's been no word from Hayes concerning the rest of your career?"  
  
"Well, it's hardly the rest of my career, Chakotay, only the next stage," she said, but didn't quite meet his eyes. "Admiral Hayes told me there would be at least six months of teaching, and then he'd meet with me to re-evaluate my 'situation.' " She toyed with a piece of lettuce. "You know, I've enjoyed teaching, but—"  
  
"You want to do something different—something more active," he guessed, remembering how he felt when he was working on his doctorate. "You want another command."  
  
"On the one hand, I'm enjoying this time immensely, especially being here with you. If I should get another deep space assignment, we could be separated for a long time. Leaving the confines of four walls to walk the bridge of a starship would be exciting," she conceded, "but right now I have other priorities."  
  
"Kathryn, you can't let your career stagnate just because of me. There's got to be a way to balance the two. After all, you and Mark managed to make a long-distance relationship work for years." Chakotay ground to a sudden halt, wishing he could take that last part back.  
  
"Until my ship ended up on the other side of the galaxy and I was presumed dead," Kathryn finished. "Believe me, Chakotay, I know all about the effects of separation on a relationship." She was silent for a moment. "I got spoiled, that last year on _Voyager_, being able to have both my command and my lover."  
  
"Too bad you didn't take advantage of that earlier in our journey," he couldn't help but say, but with a smile that took the sting from his words.  
  
"Don't think that hasn't crossed my mind as well," she said, reaching her hand across the table to him.  
  
Chakotay squeezed her hand. He couldn't help but think of Tuvok, though—how the Vulcan had chosen to resign from Starfleet rather than endure another separation from his wife. Chakotay hoped Kathryn wouldn't feel she had to make a similar decision.  
  
As if reading his mind, Kathryn said softly, "We'll cross that bridge when the time comes, Chakotay."  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Soquilii9


	20. Stardate 56725.3

  
**Utopia Planitia—_September 22, 2380, Stardate 56725.3_**  
  
"Hey, Chief."  
  
B'Elanna's only acknowledgment of her husband's greeting was a distracted "Hmmm" as he dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head. Tom looked at the console she was hunched over, where equations and symbols he was only vaguely familiar with flashed across the screen. "Did you find your glitch yet?"  
  
"We're working on it," B'Elanna muttered.  
  
Tom guessed that was a "no." And he guessed she wasn't in a great mood. But why would she be when she'd been pulled out of bed at five a.m.? That hadn't done much for his mood either. "Where is Geordi?"  
  
"Hunting down a replacement circuit for one of the transwarp coil transfer conduits. That decided to act up this morning, too."  
  
Tom heard the frustration in B'Elanna's voice. It didn't rain but poured where the transwarp project was concerned. He had learned that from months of second-hand experience. He squeezed her shoulder. "There's no hurry. At the rate the work on _Voyager_ is going, you'll have plenty of extra time to get the transwarp coil into action anyway."  
  
"Oh, it will be ready," B'Elanna growled, her tone implying if it wasn't, it would find itself in a thousand sundered pieces floating in space. "But you're right about _Voyager_. Engineering is a disaster right now. Between the parts that still haven't arrived and the latest mix up with the civilian work crew, _nothing_ is getting done there."  
  
B'Elanna was also overseeing the engineering work on _Voyager II_, and despite the fact that she had a team doing most of the hands on work there, Tom thought it was too much, combined with finishing the transwarp project. But he knew his wife by now, and she thrived on work. They'd argued about it periodically over the years, but he'd come to accept that a constantly frenetic pace was simply her nature. And she always managed to fit in her family into her hectic schedule.  
  
"How about lunch, say thirteen hundred hours?" he asked.  
  
"I don't know—"  
  
"B'Elanna..."  
  
B'Elanna looked up at him for the first time. "I know. I have to eat. Don't say it."  
  
Tom grinned. He didn't have to say it since she had. And if he didn't make sure she ate, she probably wouldn't. "I'll pick up Miral from the children's center, and we can go to the arboretum."  
  
It was a bit of blackmail, since B'Elanna wasn't likely to cancel when Miral was involved. She gave him a reproving look, but a smile tugged at her lips. They both valued the time they could spend together with their daughter.  
  
"I'll replicate some picnic food," Tom said, sweetening the pot. Miral loved "picnicking" in the arboretum, running around in the grass with the stars overhead, and watching the honeybees and dragonflies pollinate the flowers. "I'll even include some potato salad..."  
  
B'Elanna laughed. "You've convinced me, Tom. I'll be there."  
  
"Good. Now I'm off to _Voyager_."  
  
"Hey."  
  
Tom stopped in mid-turn, and B'Elanna raised an eyebrow. He smiled, and leaned over. This time she kissed him, a quick peck on the lips. "See you later."  
  
She'd turned back to her console screen before he could reply, so he let himself out of her office and passed through the simulation room, where B'Elanna and Geordi had tested dozens of versions of the transwarp coil until they'd come up with the golden formula—albeit one that still had its glitches. Still, he had no doubt they would iron those problems out, and _Voyager II_ would be the first Starfleet ship capable of the long elusive transwarp propulsion. Already, a dozen scientific journals were lauding them as Starfleet's engineering minds of the generation.  
  
Tom smiled as he strode through the labyrinthine corridors of Utopia Planitia's outer docking ring. What was it Harry had asked him during their last subspace conversation? Did he mind being married to a genius? He never had. Besides, he had his own legacy, minor though it might be compared to transwarp, in the latest generation of shuttles being built for Starfleet. He'd even done the redesign to bring the new Flyer series in line with the latest Starfleet specs, giving them the same high warp and defense capabilities of the _Delta Flyer_, if a little less "oomph," in his opinion, by removing the joystick controls. The Starfleet brass certainly didn't want their young, hotshot pilots to have too much fun.  
  
Still, he'd left the port opening in the design, so those hotshot pilots who knew a thing or two about rewiring could always thwart the obstacle. Not that he would recommend such a thing, of course.  
  
"Good morning, Lieutenant Paris. You're looking pleased with yourself today."  
  
"Good morning, Ensign Suhawri," Tom said to the transporter operator. He grinned. "The day's going well so far. Let's hope it stays that way."  
  
He didn't have to request his destination as he stepped onto the platform. Though he kept tabs on the test pilot facility, he was assigned to _Voyager II_ full time for the next several weeks, or for however long it took to get the ship's helm and navigation ready for launch. For the past week he'd been showing up here at the same time every day.  
  
"Keep having a good day, sir."  
  
Tom caught the ensign's parting words as the transporter beam took effect and Suhawri's image winked away. A second later he stepped from the platform into _Voyager II's_ main cargo bay. The cavernous space was nearly filled with equipment yet to be moved to various stations and quarters, as well as numerous boxes of tools and supplies, and several dozen rolls of carpeting. Fortunately a path, a rather tortuous one, had been cleared to the doors. He traversed it with the ease of prior experience, and two minutes later he was making his way onto the bridge.  
  
Ensign O'Brien and Lieutenant Fererra had already arrived. Tom wasn't surprised to see Delia here early, since she was the epitome of an eager cadet. She reminded him a bit of Harry when they'd first met on Deep Space Nine, though perhaps a little less naive. That might come from being one of a long line of O'Briens ensconced in Starfleet. He didn't mind her enthusiasm a bit. It helped make some of the more tedious work go by quicker.  
  
He also wasn't surprised to see Ava Fererra here early. She was prompt, competent, and energetic. She was also attractive enough to elicit a lot of stares, though she rarely acknowledged them. She'd quickly made herself a valuable part of the team. She even laughed at Gerry Culhane's more corny jokes.  
  
There was something odd about her, even if he couldn't put his finger on it. Despite her affability, she sometimes reminded him of Seven. Not physically, though she was tall and statuesque. She had a surface coolness that seemed to cover a lot more emotion seething beneath that she didn't acknowledge. She listened with interest to Gerry and Delia's personal stories, but she revealed very few personal facts about herself. She'd also said some things that made Tom feel as if she was intimately familiar with him and his life, though that could be because his life story had become public knowledge since _Voyager's_ return.  
  
He was probably being a bit paranoid, but he also felt like she was always watching him. He'd become used to that particular feeling too over the past year. Because of all that had happened on _Voyager_, he often found curious gazes directed at him, most of them probably wondering how much of his Delta Quadrant experiences they'd read in the tabloids and holonovels could possibly be true. Some of the pilots he'd trained even seemed in awe of him.  
  
Then there were the other gazes, mostly from the older officers who were well acquainted with his previous Starfleet service record. Some of the looks were devoid of judgment, but in others he'd seen condemnation, and had felt the silent resentment from a few who thought he didn't deserve to wear this uniform again.  
  
He couldn't tell what Lieutenant Fererra was thinking whenever he caught her gaze on him. Her expression always seemed impassive, though once he'd caught a flash of animosity in her eyes. Which also made no sense, so he'd probably imagined that too.  
  
She looked up at him now as he approached the helm, her smile instantaneous and friendly. "Hello, Tom."  
  
"Hi, Lieutenant Paris." Delia continued to address him by his rank, even though he'd told her it wasn't necessary. "I hope you don't mind, but I just rerouted the nav panel relays to circumvent the bridge subprocessor. That should get a faster feed from the navigational sensors in Astrometrics. My uncle suggested it."  
  
Tom grinned. "Far be it from me to question your uncle's judgment." Miles O'Brien had consulted with B'Elanna and Geordi several times on the transwarp project. He and his wife Keiko, along with their two children, had even visited Mars not long ago and had come over for dinner with Geordi. Miles was not only a fine engineer, but he had a dry wit, an appreciation of twentieth-century espionage holoprograms, and was a true connoisseur of good whiskey.  
  
"I can go to Astrometrics and check on the relays there too," Delia suggested.  
  
Tom nodded. "Good idea. Lieutenant Culhane is putting in some time there this morning. After you finish the relays, you can help him out."  
  
"Yes, sir!"  
  
As Delia grabbed her tools and bounced away toward the lift, Lieutenant Fererra spoke. "The response control system is still lagging by nearly half a second."  
  
Tom read the results on the RCS display. "Hmm. I may have to do some more rewiring again if it doesn't pick up. But let's try a Level Two diagnostic first and see if anything pops up."  
  
Ava nodded and punched in the request. Though Tom knew she could watch the diagnostic and deal with any findings, he wanted to know what was behind the sluggish RCS response. He perched on the edge of the console to watch the flow of equations and schematics across the screen.  
  
After a moment he saw Ava stiffen and shift in her chair. That odd feeling came back again. This was the first time they'd been alone together at the helm, not counting the dozen people at other stations around the bridge, and he wondered if she was uncomfortable with him for some reason. He started to ask, but she edged a bit closer to him, obviously not that uncomfortable in his presence, and tapped his arm lightly with her fingers. "See the figure for the manual flight ops feed? It should be a little higher."  
  
Tom nodded, silently berating himself for his thoughts. "We can reconfigure that. It still shouldn't cause such a sluggish response." Before he could suggest another possibility, his commbadge beeped.  
  
_"Culhane to Paris. Do you still want me in Astrometrics today?"_  
  
"Yeah, at least until the navigational sensors are fully calibrated. Delia is on her way there, so she can lend a hand if you need it. And, by the way...you're late."  
  
Tom could imagine Gerry grinning as he considered the source of that rebuke. In fact there was a small chuckle over the comm link. _"I got held up at breakfast. There was a long line for Ch'klet's omelettes."_  
  
Ch'klet was the most recent cook in the Officer's mess on the station, for those who preferred a non-replicated breakfast. Tom had heard the Benzite made a mean omelet, though he hadn't had a chance to try one yet. Somehow, anyone but Neelix running the Mess Hall kitchen still seemed out of place to him.  
  
_"Oh, and did you know the Risian Ribald is still making the rounds down there? Some officers from the Goddard were laughing over it. One of them asked me if your wife really won you in a fight."_  
  
Tom snorted. "Get to work, Gerry."  
  
_"Yes, sir!"_  
  
Tom shook his head as the link closed. Just when it seemed the old _Voyager_ crew could start living in peace, the "one year anniversary" issue of the Risian Ribald—weeks before the actual date—had appeared. He looked at Ava. "I can't believe anyone actually reads that rag. You'd think interest in us would have died down by now."  
  
"The public just can't seem to get enough of _Voyager_," Ava said, her tone sardonic.  
  
For a moment Tom couldn't tell if she was annoyed or amused, until a small smile tugged at her lips. "Besides, aren't you really enjoying the attention, deep down?" she asked.  
  
He shrugged. "To tell you the truth, it gets old pretty fast."  
  
Ava looked skeptical. "Why? Don't you think you deserve the accolades? You and the rest of the _Voyager_ crew survived some pretty long odds. You fought off a lot of dangers, and came back heroes."  
  
"Heroes?" Tom shook his head. "Don't believe everything you read. We just did what we had to do, given the situation. I can't say any other crew wouldn't have done the same."  
  
"Word has it the _Equinox_ crew didn't, at least not while upholding any ethical standards." Ava's voice was disdainful. "Starfleet has listed five other missing ships that could have been pulled into the Delta Quadrant by the Caretaker array, not to mention several dozen civilian ships that disappeared in the Badlands during that period. Yet only _Voyager_ made it back."  
  
"So far," Tom pointed out. Ava almost seemed determined to convince him of his heroic status. Once he would have played it for all it was worth, but that time had definitely passed. He'd meant it when he said it got old quick. "We did work well together as a crew, despite the early friction, so I suppose we deserve some credit. But luck also had a lot to do with it, believe me."  
  
Ava touched his hand. "I think you're being a little too modest, Tom. From everything I've heard, many of the crew turned their lives around." She didn't say he had, but the obvious implication was there. "I'm sure you all feel very proud of yourselves, whatever you say."  
  
Tom was disconcerted. He hadn't pegged her for the easily impressed type, or one who would fall for a lot of hype. He wasn't sure where this sudden admiration was coming from. "Okay, that's it," he said with mock severity. "We are not talking about me anymore. Why don't we talk about you, Lieutenant Ava Fererra? You haven't had much to say about your life so far."  
  
Ava lifted her shoulders briefly. "What's to tell? I was born in Prague, grew up in a close-knit if scattered family, attended Starfleet Academy, and now here I am."  
  
Tom's eyebrows rose. "That's it?"  
  
Ava smiled. "I said there wasn't much to tell, unless you also want to know that my favorite color is gray, my favorite food is jambalaya, my favorite music is Tvalian brass chorales, and my favorite classic novel is 'Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister.' "  
  
Tom grinned back. "See, that's a little more interesting. Gray is your favorite color?"  
  
"Look." Ava pointed to the screen. "Computer, freeze diagnostic."  
  
Tom studied the red flash indicating the emergency override system was not fully enabled. "That could be a factor. We'll check it once we're done here. Computer, resume diagnostic." He moved back, and spoke again after a moment. "So, why did you join Starfleet?"  
  
Ava shot him a sharp look, and for a moment he thought she wasn't going to answer, though it seemed an innocuous enough question. When she did answer, her voice seemed a little tight. "I love flying. When I was eight my older brother taught me to fly his personal Astrospeeder. He went into the Academy right after high school. I guess you could say he inspired me."  
  
"Fererra doesn't ring a bell," Tom said, though he hardly knew everyone in Starfleet. "Is your brother still with the Fleet?"  
  
Ava turned her attention to the screen. "He died."  
  
Her words were clipped, and Tom felt instantly contrite. "I'm sorry."  
  
"It happened a long time ago," she said. She turned to him and smiled. "No need to dredge it up now. Everyone does their best to forget the unpleasant parts of their pasts, don't they?"  
  
Tom frowned. "That's not always possible."  
  
"Besides, I figure you really get to know a person by being around them, not by what happened in the past. Don't you agree?"  
  
Tom nodded. Ava's still-bright smile seemed fake. Obviously, he'd hit on a subject she didn't like to discuss. "That's my philosophy."  
  
She returned her attention to the diagnostic again. "Oh, and Fererra is my married name."  
  
"Really?" Tom hadn't suspected that. She wasn't wearing a ring. "Is your husband on Utopia Planitia?"  
  
Ava shook her head. "He's running a stellar communications company in Milan. We were married six years ago, but it was a limited contract. After two years we decided not to renew it."  
  
"I'm sorry," Tom said again, though he wasn't sure it was necessary in this case. "Starfleet marriages aren't easy."  
  
"He wasn't in Starfleet, which probably made it harder. After a couple of years he wanted me to quit and join him in his business. That wasn't for me. So we decided to quit the marriage and remain friends instead. But that's what limited contracts are for."  
  
"They serve a purpose," Tom agreed. "But my wife is half-Klingon." He smiled, thinking what B'Elanna would have said if he'd even suggested a limited contract marriage. Not that he'd had any thought of doing so. "Klingons generally mate for life. We went the conventional route."  
  
Ava looked sympathetic. "You mean she forced you into it."  
  
Tom laughed. "Hell, no. I wanted it too. Conventional marriages are also a Paris tradition, one of the few I didn't rebel against." His lips twisted wryly at that acknowledgment. "And we wanted children. I don't think I'd bring a child into anything but a conventional marriage."  
  
Ava shrugged. "You can still get a divorce from a conventional marriage."  
  
"Not if your wife would kill you," Tom joked. Then he said more seriously, "Really, we're both very happy with our married life. And waiting as long as we did—getting past our...well, our pasts—I think we were mature enough to realize what we really wanted. Even a few years ago marriage and children wasn't something I saw in my future at all, but now I can't imagine not having B'Elanna and Miral in my life."  
  
"That sense of security must be nice," Ava said. "Maybe I'll find something like that someday. But for now, temporary gratification isn't such a bad thing." She stood and stretched languorously before Tom could reply. "Do you mind if I take a short coffee break?"  
  
"Not at all," Tom said. "There's no reason two of us should sit here watching this boring screen." He slid into the helm chair as Ava stepped back.  
  
"Thanks." Ava spoke from over his shoulder. "And I enjoyed the conversation, Tom." Her fingers trailed lightly over his collarbone, and when she spoke again her voice was lower and close to his ear. "We'll have to...talk again...sometime."  
  
By the time Tom had the wherewithal to glance back, Ava was gone. Which was good, because his mouth was hanging open. Luckily no one else was looking his way, and he turned quickly back to the diagnostic screen. Though she'd touched him several times in the past few minutes, he hadn't paid much attention to it. They hadn't worked together enough yet for him to know her style, and he'd assumed she was a 'toucher,' like Kathryn Janeway. But that last touch, and the suggestion in her tone...  
  
Despite their conversation, he still hadn't learned much about her, except for one thing. He was pretty sure—no, very sure—she had just been flirting with him.  
  
*  
  
Ava Fererra filled her coffee cup and sat down at an empty table in one of the mess halls in the Utopia Planitia station. Her expression was grim enough that the other patrons of the meager mid-morning coffee and bagel offering left her undisturbed.  
  
_A family man_. That's what Tom Paris was passing himself off as now. Someone with solid commitments, a sense of responsibility, and no doubt high moral standards.  
  
Ava snorted and took a sip of her coffee. He put on a good show, that was for sure. In the two weeks she'd been here, she'd heard him mention his kid's name about ten dozen times. Miral this, and Miral that. And if it wasn't Miral, it was B'Elanna, who was as temperamental as being half-Klingon would imply, if the gossip was to be believed.  
  
Tom Paris was clearly well-liked and respected by his colleagues, and a couple of times she'd even been momentarily lulled from her purpose by his upright posturing. That actually made it easier for her, even if it surprised her that she could tolerate his presence so readily. Perhaps that was more to her credit than his.  
  
From the outside he might be a model officer, husband and father, but no one was that good, especially not Tom Paris. And no one was incorruptible, most especially not Tom Paris.  
  
On the bridge he hadn't reacted to her parting comment, but neither had he pushed her hand away, or in any other way directly rejected her action. That told her something. His family was clearly important to him—if mostly for the appearance of propriety he must cherish after his years of ignominy—more important to him than his career perhaps. But he had a history that also told her something, and gave her an opening. Conventional marriage vows or not, Tom Paris had never been a conventional man, except where male weaknesses were concerned, and she planned to take full advantage of that.  
  
She smiled as she took another sip of her coffee, but that hard smile was no more welcoming to those around her than her previously grim countenance had been. 

** \--End Act 3--**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Julie


	21. Stardate 56750.2 (Act 4)

**Act 4: October-November  
**  
  
**Utopia Planitia**_—October 1, 2380, Stardate 56750.2_  
  
"So, Kathryn, what do you think? Ready for another mission?"  
  
Janeway tore her gaze away from the mesmerizing image of the ship in the shuttle's viewscreen to see Admiral Hayes grinning at her expectantly. He was offering her a new command, something she had hoped for, and at the same time dreaded, these many months. She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it, suddenly at a loss for words.  
  
Perhaps realizing he'd caught her off-guard, Hayes leaned forward and spoke to the shuttle pilot, then turned back to her. "We'll return to the main docking ring and then find a quiet place where we can talk about the specifics."  
  
A short time later, the two of them were sitting in one of the many conference rooms that dotted the Utopia Planitia complex.  
  
Hayes called up several files on a computer terminal, then pushed the monitor in her direction. "As I've already said,_ Voyager II_ will be the first transwarp-capable vessel in the Fleet—excepting the original ship by that name, of course. But this time there won't be any emergency crash-landings, or so we hope." He smiled as if to soften his words, and then turned serious once more. "This is going to revolutionize space travel as we know it, as distances that would ordinarily take decades to cover can now be traversed in months." He cleared his throat. "The ship's maiden voyage will be to the Delta Quadrant."  
  
The Delta Quadrant. At those words, a rush of images flooded Janeway's mind. Places and people such as the Caretaker, Kes, the Kazon, Seska, New Hope, the Borg, Hirogen hunting parties, Seven—and many, many more. Old space battles and new discoveries, her greatest triumphs and some of her most crushing losses. Striving to keep her voice steady, she asked, "What are the mission parameters, Admiral?"  
  
"Primarily, to re-establish contact between the Federation and the planet of the 37's," Hayes said, referring to the world where _Voyager_ had discovered a still-living Amelia Earhart as well as a human colony descended from individuals kidnapped from 20th century Earth by aliens known as the Boirii. The aliens themselves had long since vanished, and only the humans remained. "Travel time will be approximately three to four months; the entire mission is expected to be between nine and twelve months' duration."  
  
"I see," Janeway said neutrally.  
  
"Establish contact with the Boirii—I believe we can apply that name to the humans themselves now—and set up FTL communication with them. Your logs stated that they were definitely interested in cultural exchanges and in learning about Earth. And I'm sure you remember how excited our anthropologists were at the news of a four hundred-year-old human colony which has developed in complete isolation from the homeworld."  
  
"What about contact with other species in that sector, Admiral?" Janeway asked, as she scrolled through the files. "As you are aware, that particular region of space is also frequented by the Kazon, Talaxians, and Vidiians, just to name a few."  
  
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Hayes said firmly. "This is the first of what will hopefully be a series of missions."  
  
"I'm honored that you thought of me to lead it, sir," Janeway said, and she meant it.  
  
"This decision didn't take a great deal of thought. Who else would we name as the captain of a new _Voyager?_ And not just because of the ship's name. Much of the technological innovation in the new Intrepid class is a direct result of discoveries you and your crew made. No, Kathryn, you're the ideal choice on several counts." Hayes smiled again, clearly pleased with himself. "Of course, you'll need to finish out your obligations at the Academy as far as this semester is concerned, but you can also use this time to begin studying the specs of the ship, bringing yourself up to speed."  
  
_And selecting her crew, the officers serving under her on this mission,_ Janeway added silently, as the implications began to sink in. Aloud, she said, "What is the projected launch date?"  
  
"The end of December," Hayes said confidently. "That gives you plenty of time to make all the necessary preparations." He stood, indicating that the meeting was over. "I know I've given you a great deal to think about. I expect to have your formal acceptance on my desk within the next few days."  
  
"Yes, sir." As the doors closed behind Hayes, Janeway sank into a chair once more. 'A lot to think about'—that was an understatement. A chance to return to the Delta Quadrant, a chance to command the first transwarp vessel! And then she envisioned herself breaking the news to Chakotay, who was no longer a member of Starfleet.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Rocky


	22. Stardate 56752.4

  
**Starfleet Housing Complex, San Francisco—_October 2, 2380, Stardate 56752.4_**  
  
"Kathryn, I'm home!"  
  
Janeway looked up from her work to see Chakotay drop his bag by the front door of their apartment. She put her stylus down next to the stack of student assignments and lifted her head to receive his kiss. "How did it go?"  
  
"It turned out to be a good thing I stayed overnight in Tucson after all," he said, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "The faculty meeting didn't end until after midnight."  
  
"And to think you used to complain about the length of Starfleet briefings," she said, amused.  
  
He gave her a rueful grin as he went into the next room. "Speaking of Starfleet," he called from the kitchen, "what happened with your meeting with Admiral Hayes yesterday? Did he make you any offers?"  
  
"Oh, yes, he certainly did." She waited until he came back, carrying a cup of coffee. "Let's sit down in the living room and I'll tell you about it."  
  
"But that's wonderful, Kathryn!" he exclaimed when she had finished telling him the details. "You couldn't ask for anything better. Captain of _Voyager II_—" He stopped short. "Why do I get the feeling you're not happy?"  
  
"I don't have any complaints about the mission, Chakotay," she swiftly reassured him. "And you're right, this will be a wonderful opportunity, much better than I could have hoped for."  
  
"Then what's bothering you?" he asked, moving closer to her on the sofa and taking her hand in his.  
  
Janeway averted her head and focused her gaze on a stain in the carpet. "Hayes admitted back in February that he wasn't sure what to do with me, if I could be trusted with another command," she confessed. "Sending me off to the far reaches of the galaxy sounds like a pretty good solution."  
  
"You honestly think Hayes is doing this just to get rid of you?" Chakotay shook his head. "Aside from the fact that it would be much easier to keep you out of trouble by just assigning you to a desk job, Kathryn, let me remind you what Hayes said _now_—that you're the perfect choice for this mission, for several reasons. Your background, your abilities—you should be concentrating on the positive aspects of his offer, not looking for some ulterior motive on the part of the Admiralty."  
  
She gave a forced laugh. "You're right, I'm being foolish. They don't just hand over brand new ship prototypes to officers they consider troublesome."  
  
"Now you're talking sense," Chakotay said approvingly, and then with his free hand he gently lifted her chin until she was looking directly at him. "There's something else, though, isn't there?"  
  
"What do you mean?" she asked.  
  
"You still don't seem as excited as I thought you would be," he said. He gave her a searching look. "Isn't this everything you wanted?"  
  
"Not everything," she said softly as she reached up and traced the outline of his tattoo.  
  
He caught her fingers in his own and brought them to his lips. "Kathryn, I told you once before that I don't want you to give up your career for me. And that's what you'd be doing. You can't turn down this assignment. If you do, you'll never get another opportunity like this again."  
  
"That's not necessarily true," she protested.  
  
"Of course it is, and you know it," he said emphatically. "Turn Hayes down, and you're condemning yourself to spending the rest of your life planet-side. And you know you wouldn't be happy with that."  
  
Janeway got up and went over to the large bay window. It was a glorious autumn day outside; the sky was a perfect shade of blue and the leaves were just beginning to turn. She swung around to face him. "Happiness can be found in many different ways, Chakotay."  
  
"Perhaps, but as the years would go by you'd long for space, to be out among the stars once more. And with each passing year, your regrets would grow heavier and heavier, until they'd crush any happiness you think you've found." He joined her at the window. "I know you, Kathryn. There's a part of your spirit which can't be caged; it has to be free to fly. If you stifle it now—" He took a deep breath. "Can you honestly deny what you felt when you saw the new ship? How will you feel when you hear that someone else has gotten that command?"  
  
"I would feel pretty awful," she admitted. "But Chakotay, what about us?"  
  
"What about us? I'll always love you, Kathryn," he said with a tender smile that made her heart turn over. "And I have no doubts about your feelings for me."  
  
She leaned against him slightly, her sleeve just barely brushing his. "The mission is projected to last a year."  
  
"You could always bring me along. I'm assuming that spouses _will_ be allowed, as this is a deep space assignment." He chuckled. "Who knows? This might be just the impetus we need to finally tie the knot and silence our friends and families who've been pushing for us to set a date."  
  
Janeway refused to treat it as a joke. "But what about _your_ career? You've barely into your second semester at the university. Taking a leave of absence now is certainly not going to help you advance along the tenure track. You might even lose your teaching position."  
  
"The mission objectives sound like they just might benefit from the presence of a civilian scientist or two—especially an anthropologist/archaeologist who is already well versed in Delta Quadrant cultures and has published at least one paper on the relationship between one such group of aliens and Terran cultures," Chakotay countered. "If anything, this would be a boost to my career."  
  
She nodded slowly. What he was saying did make sense. But she needed to be sure. "But is this what you really want? Chakotay, in an ideal world, what would you choose for our next step?"  
  
He hesitated before answering. "I'd like to build a cabin with you in a pristine rural area, on the edge of a desert, or maybe tucked into a sheltered wooded valley," he admitted finally. "That's my dream, but I don't have to realize it yet. And as a certain starship captain once demonstrated to me, we don't live in an ideal world, and it's up to each of us to do the best we can with what life has handed us. Sometimes it's harder than at others." He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. "I definitely wouldn't put this in the category of hardship, Kathryn. Aside from being with you—which is all I really need, no matter where we are—I also feel the allure of going back to the DQ. I'd be damn jealous if I couldn't come along."  
  
She was silent for a long moment. "I'll tell Admiral Hayes in the morning."   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Rocky


	23. Stardate 56769.4

  
**_Voyager II_, Utopia Planitia—O_ctober 8, 2380, Stardate 56769.4_**  
  
  
"Yes! One hundred percent helm response!" Gerry Culhane raised his fist in the air. "We could fly this thing out of here tomorrow!"  
  
"With the engines off-line?" Ava Fererra asked dryly.  
  
"One hundred percent is good," Tom said. "But don't forget most captains expect at least one hundred and ten percent and nothing less."  
  
Gerry shook his head at that keen observation and tapped Delia O'Brien on the shoulder. "Just when we were ready to break out the champagne, these two have to be wet blankets."  
  
"We're almost there, Gerry," Tom said. "But there are a few refinements I want to complete."  
  
"And we still need the laminate repellent overlay for the top panel," Delia said, pointing at the fingerprint-smudged helm console.  
  
"Picky, picky," Gerry said, grinning at Delia. "The old reliable 'spit and polish' method works just as well."  
  
Delia wrinkled her nose at him.  
  
"It'll be another couple of weeks before we can break out the champagne," Tom said. "With a full team in Astrometrics now, we can start integrating all the navigational subroutines next week. And I have to check with Vorik to make sure all the Helm-Engineering communication protocols are in place. But we're done for today."  
  
"I can go to Engineering and check the—"  
  
"Delia," Tom interrupted her. "I'm the boss, and I say we're done for today. That means all of us." He waved a hand at her. "Forget work and go out dancing or something."  
  
"There's a nice club in civilian D section called Magellan's Cloud," Gerry said. "I hear they serve pretty good food, and there's a jazz band in the evening. I'll buy you both an early celebratory drink, ladies," he offered, his gaze moving from Delia to Ava and remaining there for several seconds.  
  
Tom had noticed that same lingering look several times recently. Gerry was definitely interested in Ava, and who could blame him? She was intelligent, witty, and very easy on the eyes. _Go for it,_ he thought.  
  
"I don't know," Ava hesitated. "I have a few things I should take care of—"  
  
"Oh, go have some fun, Ava," Tom said. "You're young and single. Take advantage of it."  
  
Ava raised an eyebrow Vulcan-style. Tom supposed he did sound a bit grandfatherly, even though she wasn't more than seven or eight years his junior. "The dance floor is great," he said, to dispel any notion that he needed a rocking chair. "B'Elanna and I have been there."  
  
Gerry spoke before Ava could. "Come on, Ava. You can help me protect Delia from the corruptive elements. We can order her some root beer."  
  
It was an ongoing joke, Gerry referring to Delia as innocent and vulnerable because of her youthful looks. Delia snorted. "Root beer? My drink of choice is whiskey, thank you. And I won't end up dancing on any tables."  
  
"That's too bad," Gerry said, grinning. He turned to Ava. "How about you?"  
  
Ava rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "It's not going to happen, Culhane."  
  
Gerry grinned wider. "So you're coming. Great!"  
  
Ava frowned at his quick assumption, then acquiesced with a shrug. "Fine. You coming, Tom?"  
  
Tom shook his head. "I've got to pick up my daughter. But you three go ahead. In fact, get out of here now, before I change my mind and think of something else for you to do."  
  
Gerry didn't need any further prodding. He hustled Delia and Ava across the bridge as if they might get away from him. Tom got the impression Ava was just being a good sport, but he was glad to see her go.  
  
Not that he was trying to get rid of her. They'd all worked comfortably together over the past weeks, including Ava, though he'd surreptitiously arranged the schedule so they weren't alone again, even on the bridge with a dozen or more other people nearby. They'd all become comfortable sharing banter back and forth—some of a ribald nature—but she hadn't directed any flirtatious comments specifically at him. In fact, she hadn't treated him any differently, which meant he still sometimes felt like she was watching him, although she had never referred to that day again.  
  
Which left him a little confused. Maybe she'd simply been teasing him in her own odd way. Despite her friendliness, something about her remained elusive. He still couldn't completely read her moods or motivations.  
  
Or perhaps his non-reaction had discouraged any follow up on her part. He should just feel flattered and leave it at that, Tom decided, as he shut down the rest of the helm functions. He'd been on the receiving end of a few interested looks from women since _Voyager's_ return to Earth. He didn't encourage them, but he couldn't deny that it pumped his ego a little. He was only human, after all.  
  
Tom exchanged goodnights with several officers on the bridge whom he'd gotten to know over the past couple of weeks. On his way to the cargo bay he saw few other familiar faces, since only a handful of the former _Voyager_ crew were working on the new ship besides himself and B'Elanna. Most had been assigned to other ships, those who hadn't resigned from Starfleet and gone on to other things. Even Kathryn Janeway, who was to be captain of this second _Voyager_, was still busy teaching at the Academy. He sometimes felt an odd pang of regret walking through corridors that were so familiar, yet weren't—as if he were in a simulation which was slightly off-kilter. Whatever adventures this new ship might encounter, they would never quite match the wildest ones of its predecessor.  
  
Tom dismissed his nostalgia as he hurried into the cargo bay. He was late picking up Miral. Not that B'Elanna would know, but after their argument this morning, he didn't want to irritate her further. As it was, if she still wouldn't talk to him tonight, at least Miral would. And once Miral was in bed, he and B'Elanna would resolve their differences. They always did.  
  
*  
  
Ava watched Tom Paris stepped off the main transporter platform. He was clearly preoccupied, and it was several seconds before he saw her. His brisk pace slowed for a moment, then resumed as he walked toward her.  
  
"I thought you were going to Magellan's Cloud with Gerry and Delia."  
  
Ava couldn't tell if there was a trace of annoyance in his voice, or simply puzzlement. He kept walking and she joined him. "I told them I would stop by later. I wanted to talk to you first."  
  
Tom's eyebrows rose. "Really? What about?"  
  
"I thought we could go get a drink." At Tom's startled look, she added, "You seemed a little distracted today. That way you could unwind a little while we talk."  
  
Tom's lips twitched ironically. "Thanks for your concern, Ava, but I'm just fine."  
  
Right. He'd shown up on the bridge late this morning, and she'd heard him say something to Gerry about his wife being on the warpath. He'd said it jokingly, but Ava had gotten the distinct impression the humor was a cover. "I didn't mean to imply otherwise. I know your wife is working late." She'd heard Tom mention that too. "I have a couple of things I wanted to...discuss, and I thought a relaxing atmosphere would be nice after our hectic day."  
  
Tom shook his head. "I really can't. Like I said earlier, I have to get over to the Children's Center. But if this is about work, I can probably set aside some time tomorrow morning. Just remind me when I get there—"  
  
"It's not only about work," she said as she followed him out of the transporter room. "It's also about us."  
  
He stopped and after a moment turned to face her. "Us? What do you mean?"  
  
She had to give him credit for a good facsimile of genuine confusion. "Us. The tension between us. Don't you think we should defuse it?"  
  
Tom nodded at two officers who passed them, then looked at her again with a frown. "Ava, I didn't think there was any tension between us. You're doing a great job, and you're an asset to the team. If I've given you some idea that I have a problem with your work—"  
  
"Tom." She wasn't sure if his obtuseness was deliberate. She put a hand on his arm, letting her fingers brush over his skin. "Not that kind of tension."  
  
Tom looked down at her hand, and slowly removed his arm. "I think you're mistaken, Ava."  
  
She narrowed her eyes. If he was going to play stupid, fine. "You don't have to deny it, Tom. I've seen you staring at me—"  
  
Tom's expression was incredulous. "You've been watching me since the first day you arrived!"  
  
"I have, and I admit it," Ava said. "But you've been returning my looks." She'd caught his eyes on her several times over the past few days. She'd made sure that she was frequently in his line of vision. "You're a fascinating man, Tom, and I find you very attractive. Are you saying you don't feel the same?"  
  
Tom shook his head, as if he couldn't believe her question. "No, I—I mean, you are an attractive woman. But if I've been staring at you, it's simply because I've been trying to figure you out. You aren't exactly an open book."  
  
Ava smiled tremulously, playing for vulnerability. That might appeal to his chivalrous side. "I know I tend to keep my feelings to myself. There are reasons, though I don't mean to be secretive. Maybe I can help you figure me out, over drinks."  
  
He looked at her for several moments, concern warring with wariness in his eyes. "Ava...I don't think that's a good idea. I'm sorry."  
  
Ava suppressed her frustration. This wasn't proving to be as easy as she'd expected. "Tom—"  
  
"Lieutenant Paris!"  
  
An older gray-haired woman came around the corner, a toddler clinging to her hand—a little girl with dark curls and brown eyes and faint forehead ridges. Ava recognized Tom's daughter from the holo he'd shown her soon after she'd joined the helm team.  
  
"Daddy!" Miral Paris shrieked as she pulled away from the woman.  
  
Tom held out his arms and scooped his daughter up before she could barrel into him. "Hey, sweetie."  
  
"You're late!"  
  
Tom grinned at his daughter's accusation. "Just by a few minutes."  
  
"She always knows," the gray-haired woman said, laughing. "Her internal clock is very accurate."  
  
"I meet you, Daddy."  
  
Tom kissed Miral's forehead. "I'm glad you did. You didn't have to come all the way here, Irina."  
  
"Miral was anxious, and I didn't mind," Irina said. "I was on my way out anyway, and Bezin arrived early for his shift. But I hope we weren't interrupting anything important."  
  
Tom glanced at Ava. "No. I think we were finished."  
  
Miral followed her father's gaze, her eyes meeting Ava's. Ava smiled. "Hello, Miral. I work with your daddy."  
  
Miral looked at her somberly for a moment without speaking. Irina's curious gaze had lighted on Ava, too; and Tom made the introductions. Though his expression remained blandly congenial, she thought he hesitated a microsecond over the word 'colleague.' Maybe she had affected him a little.  
  
"Nice to meet you, Lieutenant Fererra."  
  
Ava shook the caretaker's hand as Tom watched them. "You too, Mrs. Pavlova."  
  
Miral pressed a small hand to her father's cheek, and turned his face toward her. " 'Tention, Daddy."  
  
Irina laughed, and Tom grinned at his daughter, who obviously wasn't going to be ignored. "You've always got my attention, sweetheart."  
  
"We go home now."  
  
"She talks very well for her age, doesn't she?" Irina asked Ava.  
  
"Very well indeed," Ava replied, smiling again at the little girl. Miral glanced at her dismissively, clearly unimpressed by the compliment.  
  
Irina made an "ooh" sound and turned to Tom. "Lieutenant Paris, I almost forgot. Your wife called as we were leaving. She missed you on _Voyager_ and wanted you to know she'd be home around seven, with lasagna and a Ktarian merlot."  
  
Tom looked surprised, then pleased. A wide smile broke out on his face. "Thanks for the message, Irina." He ruffled Miral's curls and she giggled. "Looks like it's lasagna for dinner, pumpkin."  
  
"And mer-o," Miral said triumphantly.  
  
Tom laughed. "We'll substitute grape juice for you."  
  
"I have to be going," Irina said, bestowing a fond smile on father and daughter. "Goodnight, Lieutenant Paris. I'll see you tomorrow, Miral."  
  
Miral reached out for a quick hug, and a moment later Irina was on her way.  
  
Tom shifted his daughter in his arms. "We'd better get home and set the table." He looked at Ava, and hesitated for a moment. Then he smiled, a polite, cordial smile, devoid of any other significance. "I'll see you on _Voyager_ tomorrow. Miral, say goodbye to Ava."  
  
Miral responded with a slightly sullen "bye." She kept her arms possessively around her father's neck as he strode away, as if to say "he's mine." Her dark eyes stayed on Ava until Tom turned the corner, as if to make sure Ava didn't follow.  
  
It was discomfiting to feel rebuked by a two-year-old, but Ava did. She had enough nieces and nephews to know that young children understood a lot more than adults gave them credit for. She couldn't blame Miral for recognizing a threat when she saw one.  
  
What Ava didn't like was how she'd felt seeing Tom with his daughter. He clearly adored Miral. And the smile that had spread across his face—he and his wife had been at odds this morning, yet one would think her goodwill was what he lived for.  
  
For a moment Ava actually felt guilty, as if she was the one who should be suffering recriminations and seeking atonement, which was ridiculous.  
  
Tom Paris wasn't proving to be what she'd expected, and that unnerved her. He could lay on the charm as rumored, but it was more good-humored than slick and manipulative. He did often act on his instincts rather than strictly following protocol, but the recklessness, the disregard for consequences, and the self-serving actions—all that she'd heard and internalized about him—wasn't apparent. One could almost conclude that he wasn't the same person at all. Maybe part of her even wanted to believe it.  
  
She frowned, angry with herself. She wasn't prepared to accept that. He could change his behavior, but he couldn't change who he really was or the grief he'd caused.  
  
She strode down the corridor, determined again to follow her chosen course. So far he hadn't been able to ignore her, despite his protestation that his interest was innocent. She hadn't even applied serious pressure yet; and the fall from innocence was a short one, especially if she gave him a decisive push.  
  
And if he really did love Miral and B'Elanna as much as he appeared to, all the better. It was that much more for him to lose. That Miral and B'Elanna might lose, too, well, that would be Tom's doing...wouldn't it?  
  
She pushed away that question as she stepped on the transport walkway to the civilian section. She decided she would join Gerry and Delia after all. She could use a distraction right now. Not because she had any doubts, she told herself. Certainly not because she felt isolated by her deception and concealed motives, or because she didn't want to be alone with her conscience. Gerry and Delia were simply good company. And they knew Tom much better than she did. Whatever she might learn from them, she could use to plan her next move.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Julie


	24. Stardate 56788.7

****  
Sector 001-Sol System /Utopia Planitia—_October 15, 2380, Stardate 56788.7_  
  
Tom Paris banked the new Alpha Flyer (Class C) and initialed the test pilot log. He'd spent most of the day in the Asteroid belt, testing the shuttle's maneuverability at half and full impulse, along with its primary shields and collision warning systems. He'd logged fourteen near-collisions, six more than the minimum, and a couple of them had been closer than the trial parameters necessitated. B'Elanna would be livid that he was taking chances he didn't need to, and she would be right. Putting the shuttle through a more rigorous trial offered more proof of its abilities—that's what he would tell Commodore Nadaara if she questioned his report—but he'd been motivated as much by the sheer thrill. The adrenaline rush of pushing the envelope left no room for thought or feeling beyond the elemental will to survive. It was as addictive as any chemical, so a Starfleet counselor had once remarked to him.  
  
Tom sighed, and watched the rust-orange globe of Mars grow larger in front of him. He'd needed to get away for a day and stretch his legs, so to speak. A test flight on the newest Alpha Flyer model had seemed the perfect opportunity. As challenging as piloting a starship could be, it wasn't like flying a small, fast shuttle, where it was just him and the stars. Only one thing compared, and that was having B'Elanna and Miral along. The last time that had happened was two months ago, when he'd convinced B'Elanna to take three days leave she'd had coming. They'd done a quick jaunt through the Solar system, visiting his parents and Kathryn Janeway as well as Neelix and Sarexa on Earth, then the Doctor and Reg Barclay at Jupiter Station. They'd even tacked on a brief lunch with B'Elanna's father at his job site on the Titan Orbital Platform. But the most enjoyable part had been their time together in the shuttle, letting Miral pretend she was piloting, and—  
  
The comm beeped and a voice interrupted his thoughts_. "Utopia Planitia Docking Bay Three to Lieutenant Paris. We've been wondering if you were coming back."_  
  
"I took the long way around."  
  
_"Via Pluto?"_  
  
Tom laughed at Antonia Carvajal's sardonic query. "Close enough."  
  
_"Last one out, last one in..."_ she admonished.  
  
"I hope my unexpected presence didn't throw the schedule off too much today."  
  
_"Oh, Tom, you know you're always welcome here. You're the Commodore's pet."_  
  
Antonia's tone was teasing, though Tom did get along surprisingly well with Commodore Nadaara. She didn't always play strictly by the book, and she allowed her pilots a measure of autonomy.  
  
_"She'd love to get you back here full time,"_ Antonia said. "_Oops, got another shuttle taking off. You're on Level Two, Dock Seven."_  
  
"ETA two point six minutes," Tom informed her quickly.  
  
_"Check and out."_  
  
The comm line clicked shut and Tom initiated his pre-landing procedures. Mars took up most of the front viewscreen now, and the white structures and rings of the sprawling Utopia Planitia station were coming into view. He sped through the system checks with the perfunctory ease of long experience, his thoughts elsewhere again.  
  
His work on _Voyager II_ had started as a temporary part of his assignment, and though he wasn't surprised by Captain Janeway's offer, it was something that had occupied his mind the past couple of days—as it had B'Elanna's. He hadn't told Commodore Nadaara yet, though she probably knew. It seemed that everyone at TPF had heard rumors about it.  
  
Tom shook his head with something akin to wonder. The Delta Quadrant. They hadn't been home a year and here they were, considering going back again. It would be different, of course. This time it would only take a few months to get there, and _Voyager II_ would remain in regular contact with Starfleet. The crew would have a clearly defined mission. Captain Janeway had asked B'Elanna and him to join that crew, as her Chief Engineer and Chief Helm Officer. Though the ship wasn't being designed with families in mind, she had also assured them Miral would be accommodated.  
  
That was the only possible sticking point in his mind. Miral was happy at Utopia Planitia. She was close to her grandparents, aunts and uncles, both in the Solar system and on Qo'noS. She'd miss them, even though there would be frequent calls back and forth.  
  
On the other hand, Miral had an adventurous spirit, and she was adaptable. When she'd been conceived, there'd still been a good chance she'd grow up on a starship, as Naomi Wildman had. Naomi hadn't suffered any ill effects from the experience. In fact, she'd become a mature and self-possessed young woman. Although no journey was completely without dangers, this time they knew where they were going, so safety wouldn't be as large a concern.  
  
Then there was B'Elanna. She had enjoyed her work with Geordi La Forge, but now she was working on _Voyager II_ full time. After installing the transwarp coil and preparing the Engineering department for launch, he knew how hard she would find it to watch the ship leave without her. He wasn't sure he would like watching _Voyager II _depart without him either.  
  
The proximity indicator beeped. Tom ended his silent debate as he set the helm controls for final approach. Deep down, he knew the decision was already made anyway, in his heart and in B'Elanna's. And, truth be told, he knew Miral would be content wherever her parents were.  
  
The Alpha Flyer dropped toward the landing bay. Tom piloted through the cavernous structure, gliding over several stationary Flyers and older shuttle models before setting his ship down without a bump. He glanced at the chronometer as he shut down the engines, noting that he really had been gone quite a while. He performed the post-landing routine in record time.  
  
Though he enjoyed trading stories with the other pilots—some of which were actually true—he was glad there was no one around as he stepped onto the deck. He wanted to change and get home. He'd barely processed that thought when someone walked around the front of the shuttle. He slowed, then stopped entirely as he saw who it was.  
  
She was the other reason he'd decided to take a test flight out today. After he'd turned down her proposition a week ago, he'd assigned Ava to finish the work in Astrometrics with Gerry while he and Delia had started interfacing all the necessary Helm systems with Engineering. He'd figured it would be more comfortable for both of them that way. She hadn't protested or approached him again, but he'd still felt uncomfortable, wondering if she'd fully gotten the message.  
  
Consequently, he sounded brusquer than he intended when he asked, "What are you doing here, Lieutenant?"  
  
Though he'd addressed her by her rank, Ava didn't return the formality. "You've been avoiding me, Tom. I figured coming here to see you would be better than your quarters."  
  
"How did you—" Tom stopped. He didn't care how she'd found out he was landing. "If it's about work, I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
"It's not."  
  
He was afraid of that. He started to push past her. "Ava, I already told you—"  
  
"That it's not a good idea for us to get involved," Ava finished for him. "Does that matter? You don't strike me as the type who is overly concerned with propriety, Tom. Or the type to refuse a no-strings offer from a woman."  
  
Tom almost laughed at the irony of that comment. Before B'Elanna, 'no strings' had been his personal motto. He didn't think he ever had refused a woman back then. His lack of practice was obviously telling. "I'm married now."  
  
Ava shrugged. "Just because you're married, that doesn't mean you don't have human impulses. And it's not like she has to know."  
  
Tom frowned. "That's not the point. I love my wife, and I have no intention of cheating on her."  
  
"Come on, Tom. You don't have to pretend with me. Casual dalliances have always been your thing, haven't they?"  
  
Tom's eyes narrowed. "Times have changed. I've changed."  
  
Ava laughed, the sound more derisive than amused. "Oh, come on. People don't really change, do they?" She trailed a finger over his collarbone where the V collar of his flightsuit exposed his skin. "You can't tell me you aren't attracted..." Her hand dipped lower, "...that your feelings aren't churning..."  
  
They were churning all right. He was starting to understand. He grabbed her wrist and jerked her hand away. "Is that what this is all about? You read about me—about my past, and for some reason you find it compelling? It's all true, you know. I've slept with hundreds of women, literally. I don't remember most of their names—hell, I didn't even know some of their names. I was usually too drunk to notice or care. Do you actually find that attractive?"  
  
She flinched at the harshness in his tone and tugged at her arm. Tom took the hint and released her wrist. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. But you have the wrong idea about me. I'm not that person anymore, however much you may want me to be." And for whatever reason he certainly couldn't fathom.  
  
"Aren't you?" she asked softly.  
  
He was bewildered by her persistence. A triumphant expression crossed her face, right before she threw her arms around him. He was caught unprepared and his back hit the side panel of the shuttle as her lips locked over his.  
  
It took him a couple of seconds to recover from his astonishment, and several more to forcibly push her off him. She stared at him, her eyes wide and her lips looking...kissed.  
  
"What the..." Tom's voice trailed off, his ire replaced by confusion as someone appeared in his peripheral vision.  
  
Ava backed up a step, then rubbed her arms where he'd gripped her to push her away. "Oops. I guess we won't be seeing each other anymore, Tom."  
  
Tom was barely aware of Ava's contradictory words as she strode away with a half-smile on her face, giving B'Elanna a wide berth. He remained speechless as his wife walked forward and stopped in front of him. Finally he found his voice, even though it was raspy. "B'Elanna..."  
  
"So that's Ava," B'Elanna said conversationally. "She's very beautiful."  
  
Tom had mentioned Ava a few times as part of his team, but it occurred to him now that B'Elanna and Ava had never actually met. He shrugged away B'Elanna's observation, more intent on her reaction. "B'Elanna, that wasn't what it looked like..."  
  
"Of course not," B'Elanna said, with no inflection.  
  
"You don't really think I would..."  
  
"What should I think, Tom?" B'Elanna asked, her tone perfectly reasonable.  
  
"Just don't jump to conclusions," Tom said, sure he was digging an even bigger hole. No matter how reasonable B'Elanna sounded, her arms were tightly crossed. That was never a good sign. "I didn't kiss her."  
  
"No? So what was that? Wait, don't tell me. She attacked you, overpowered you, and then kissed you against your will."  
  
"Yes!" Tom said frantically. "I mean, she surprised me. I didn't kiss her back. I pushed her away—"  
  
"I believe you, Tom."  
  
"I swear—" Tom stopped, flustered. "You do?"  
  
B'Elanna nodded, and her arms fell to her sides. "Yes. You mentioned a few weeks ago that you couldn't quite figure her out. She's obviously up to something. Besides, why would she be attracted to you?"  
  
"Exactly—hey, wait a minute! Why wouldn't she be attracted to me?" Tom shook his head immediately at B'Elanna's raised eyebrows. He definitely shouldn't push it while he was ahead. He hoped. "Never mind. The fact is, she made a pass at me a few days ago." Something he realized now he should have told B'Elanna at the time. "I didn't mention it because I told her I wasn't interested. And I'm not!"  
  
B'Elanna stared at him for several unnerving moments, her expression unreadable. He was about to speak again, prostrate himself—anything—when she said, "It's strange that she showed up here after I called Astrometrics to tell Gerry Culhane I was going to meet you here."  
  
"How did you know?"  
  
"Lieutenant Carvajal gave me your approximate ETA. The point is, if she set this up for some reason, then you have to ask yourself, why is she trying to ruin our marriage?"  
  
That was a good question, and it wasn't an angle Tom had thought of before. Had Ava been trying to find a way to hurt him? Or to hurt B'Elanna? He shook his head. He didn't know, but he was going to find out.  
  
"Think about it. And after you change out of your flightsuit, can you pick up Miral?"  
  
Tom frowned. That was it? B'Elanna was moving on to more mundane matters that quickly? "Sure, but why don't we go together?"  
  
"I just remembered...I have to stop by the Transwarp Lab and pick up some PADDs I left there. I'll meet you at home."  
  
"Fine." It wasn't like B'Elanna to forget things, but Tom was feeling a little light-headed from the range of emotions he'd experienced in the past few minutes. He didn't question it. As long they were okay.  
  
"B'Elanna...we're fine, aren't we?"  
  
B'Elanna smiled. "Of course."  
  
She started to walk away, and for a moment Tom felt thoroughly baffled. Hell, he even felt a little bereft. It wasn't like B'Elanna to take something like this so easily. He'd never given her any reason to doubt him, but still...  
  
His eyes widened as B'Elanna whirled around suddenly and strode back to him. "Oh, and one more thing."  
  
Before he could reply, she slammed him against the side of the Flyer, grabbed his hair with fisted hands and kissed him, hard and completely. After a few dozen seconds she released him.  
  
"There. That should erase anything but my taste and scent," B'Elanna said with satisfaction. "Don't you forget it, Flyboy."  
  
Tom grinned. That was better. "Never."  
  
His grin faded as B'Elanna strode out of sight. He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. Getting manhandled by two women within a few minutes wasn't something he was used to. Usually it was just the one.  
  
"Tom!"  
  
Tom groaned inwardly. He didn't want to talk to anyone right now, but he turned around and faced Lieutenant Commander Misha Rachenko. The man was a good pilot, but once he started talking he didn't stop.  
  
"Hey, I'm giving the ten credit tour to a couple of new recruits, and I saw the Class C Alpha Flyer here. I figured you were already in the pilot's lounge, but since you're here, I might as well introduce you."  
  
A Vulcan woman and a human man, both in lieutenant's uniforms, approached behind Rachenko. "This is Lieutenant Tom Paris, one of our best pilots," Rachenko said. "Though we're not supposed to know, rumor has it he may be leaving soon to take a ship assignment. Tom, this is Lieutenant T'Sari, and Lieutenant Rick Vanderford."  
  
Tom returned Lieutenant T'Sari's nod absently. His attention was on Rick, and he couldn't help thinking that he must have done something to deserve the torture suddenly being heaped on him. Or maybe it was like that black and white TV show he and B'Elanna had watched a few times. Instead of flying back to the real Utopia Planitia, he'd entered the Twilight Zone.  
  
"Tom and I already know each other," Rick said. His lips curved into a tightly polite smile, though Tom couldn't discern any real warmth in it.  
  
"Ah," Rachenko acknowledged. "Mind if we take a look inside the Alpha Flyer, Tom?"  
  
Tom shook his head, and Rachenko stepped immediately into the shuttle, T'Sari right behind him. Rick lingered, and Tom was at a loss for words. He hadn't seen Rick since that fateful meeting right after _Voyager_ had returned from the Delta Quadrant. His old Academy classmate had seemed bemused at the time to see Tom in a Starfleet uniform. Rick had commented on Tom's status as one of _Voyager's_ lauded crew, as if he couldn't quite believe Tom had made the transformation from dishonorable discharge to returning 'hero.' The meeting had been uncomfortable at best.  
  
"So, you left Starfleet Headquarters," Tom finally managed. That sounded better than saying he'd left the Quartermaster's office, where he'd taken a desk job after being traumatized during the Dominion War.  
  
Rick looked at Tom silently for a moment, probably trying to figure out how much Tom knew of his history. "Yes. I decided it was about time I started flying again."  
  
"That's great," Tom said, then slapped himself mentally for sounding so lame. "I've heard you're a good pilot."  
  
Rick's mouth quirked. "Funny, I've heard the same about you. I had some...problems, but they're in the past now. I'm ready to move on." He stared at Tom for several seconds, his gaze disconcertingly intent, as if he was studying a bug under a microscope. When he spoke his tone was thoughtful. "I guess people do change, after all."  
  
"Yes," Tom said softly. "They do."  
  
Rick nodded. "Guess I'll see you around. Or not." He stepped into the Flyer.  
  
"Probably not," Tom said, knowing where he was headed. "Rick...good luck."  
  
Rick turned at the door. His smile was wry but genuine this time. "You too, Tom."  
  
Tom watched him disappear through the doorway, feeling bemused. After the last time he'd seen Rick, he'd felt even more certain that avoiding everyone from his past was the right thing to do. The past might be over, but it wasn't forgotten. It always seemed to linger, like a shadow between him and everyone he'd once known.  
  
So he'd thought. Maybe he'd been wrong and B'Elanna had been right when she'd said Rick and a lot of others would take heart from his redemption, rather than scorning him.  
  
Tom smiled. He shouldn't be surprised that his wife was a very perceptive woman. _That still doesn't solve the puzzle of Ava Ferrera's actions or explain her motives_, he thought, as he walked toward the pilot's lounge. Halfway there he stopped in mid-stride as a new realization hit him.  
  
Maybe it did.  
  
*  
  
Ava took a sip of her Scotch. She didn't drink often, but she'd wanted something to wet her dry throat. And someplace to hide. Where better than this bar tucked away in one of the deeper corners of Utopia Planitia? Too bad she couldn't hide from herself.  
  
She should feel happy. She'd left Tom to explain it to his wife, if he could. She might have ended his marriage. After all this time, Tom Paris would pay for what he'd done. If his wife and daughter left him, then he'd know what losing someone you loved felt like.  
  
She should feel vindicated, so why did she just feel empty and sullied? She had an inexplicable urge to take it all back, erase the past few weeks, and leave him alone. Revenge wasn't giving her the satisfaction she'd expected.  
  
Her father had told her it wouldn't. She chuckled humorlessly and took a second, larger sip of her drink. She'd scorned his assertion that her brother's death had been an accident; innocent pilot error, even if compounded by lies—lies that Tom Paris would have to live with throughout his life. According to her father, that was more than enough punishment.  
  
Ava had thought her father was wrong. Her other brothers and sisters had long ago come to terms with their brother's death, but she'd lived her life on the premise that the scale wasn't balanced. Now she wondered if her father had been right all along. Worse, she wondered if Tom Paris really wasn't the person she'd thought he was, the person she'd expected him to remain forever, to justify her actions.  
  
She raised her glass again, but it didn't reach her lips. Instead, a hand pulled it from her grasp, then set it down hard on the bar. Scotch sloshed over the sides of the glass, and Ava looked up into the dark, flinty eyes of B'Elanna Torres.  
  
"Shut up," B'Elanna said as Ava started to open her mouth. "I'll do the talking." She leaned in closer, her eyes glittering, and Ava involuntarily pressed further back into her chair. "I don't know what you have against Tom, and I don't really care. I'm just here to give you a warning, and it's the only one you're going to get, so listen well. If you touch my husband again, in any way, I'll rip out every organ of your body with my bare hands and stuff them all in a shredder. A team of Starfleet micro-surgeons won't be able to put you back together again. Are we clear?"  
  
Ava started to respond but nothing came out of her mouth. Apparently B'Elanna Torres took her silence as agreement, because she turned and stalked out of the bar, several gazes following her departure. The moment she was gone those gazes turned to Ava. Though B'Elanna hadn't shouted, she hadn't whispered either. Most of the patrons had undoubtedly heard everything she'd said.  
  
Ava turned back to the bar, ignoring the curious eyes. The bartender wiped away the spilled scotch, picked up her glass, and refilled it. She looked up, expecting a censorious or pitying look, but his quick glance at her was indifferent, as if he'd seen it all many times before.  
  
She picked up her glass, this time with both hands, because they were shaking slightly. She wasn't sure whether B'Elanna had been serious, but she was half-Klingon. The scorn in her eyes had been genuine. But she did know that B'Elanna didn't have to worry. Whatever she'd hoped to accomplish—and what it was now eluded her—she was done. And she was out of here. Tomorrow.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Julie


	25. Stardate 56790.8

  
**Crew Quarters, Utopia Planitia—_October 16, 2380 Stardate 56790.8_**  
  
  
Lieutenant Avalon Fererra, recently assigned to the _Voyager II_ construction project, now on two week's personal leave before rejoining the _USS Churchill_ to resume her regular shipboard assignment, closed her duffel. She glanced around her quarters to make sure she hadn't left anything behind. There wasn't much to check. She'd acquired nothing here and only had a few personal belongings. The small room looked little different now than it had while she'd first occupied it. Though her shuttle to Starfleet Headquarters didn't leave for two more hours, she didn't want to remain here any longer than necessary.  
  
Even after a sleepless night, the only emotion she was sure she felt was frustration. She'd accomplished nothing she'd set out to do, but at least now she wouldn't have to look in the mirror and wonder what sort of person she had become. Whatever price remained for Tom Paris to pay, someone else would have to extract it. Even if she was leaving with her business unfinished, at least she was leaving with an almost clear conscience.  
  
She'd just hoisted her duffel over her shoulder when the door announcer beeped. She wasn't expecting anyone, and she hoped it wasn't Gerry or Delia. She'd requested immediate leave and reassignment to avoid the need to go back to _Voyager II_. It had seemed the best way. Beyond "It was nice working with you," what could she say about her abrupt departure?  
  
The door announcer beeped again, and her hope of whoever it was giving up if she remained silent was dashed. The station's locator system would have notified anyone looking for her that she was in here. She walked to the door and pressed the manual door release.  
  
"About time," Tom Paris said as he walked in.  
  
She was speechless as he stopped a couple of meters into her quarters and glanced around at the impersonal decor. She'd assumed he would be on _Voyager II_, feeling nothing but relief that he'd never have to see her again. The last thing she'd expected was for him to show up here.  
  
"Looks like you're about to leave," Tom said as he turned to face her.  
  
His gaze was watchful and Ava felt a shiver of uneasiness. "You should have received word of my resignation this morning. I have some personal matters to attend to, and after yesterday, I assumed you'd be happy to see the last of me." She'd also been convinced that his lack of response to her overtures was genuine, but apprehension made her blurt out sharply, "If you've come to belatedly accept my offer, it's rescinded."  
  
Tom smiled without amusement. "I haven't. But we do need to talk, don't you think, Ava? Or should I call you Avi?"  
  
Ava stiffened. Only her family had ever called her by that nickname. If that wasn't enough, she could tell from his shrewd expression that he knew.  
  
"I would never have guessed," Tom said. "You don't look anything like Bruno. You must take after your mother."  
  
Obviously, he'd read her service record. For a moment, Ava wondered why he hadn't before. Maybe he’d felt threatened after yesterday. "Congratulations," she said, "you're a brilliant investigator. Now you know. Case closed. If you'll excuse me—"  
  
"Your brother used to talk about you," Tom said, without moving. His voice sounded distant to her, even though he was standing less than a meter away. "Bruno talked about his whole family, but he seemed to have a special affection for you. He'd say you were twelve going on thirty, and that you could almost outfly him already. He admired your grit and natural ability."  
  
Ava felt tears prick her eyelids. She focused on her indignation to push them back. Who was he to tell her how her brother had felt? "Did he say that to you the day you killed him?"  
  
Tom didn't flinch or blanch at her spiteful words, but she saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. "No, he didn't. But he said it often enough."  
  
"He never said it to—" Ava stopped. That wasn't his business either.  
  
"Brothers don't usually tell their sisters how they really feel," Tom said, as if he knew from experience. "It's a lot more comfortable to harass each other. But your brother loved you. You can take my word for it."  
  
"I should take your word for anything?" Ava asked snidely.  
  
"You can now," Tom said softly. He looked at her, his expression somber. "Ava, I know you why you're here. You want to punish me for what happened at Caldik Prime, and I don't blame you."  
  
Ava snorted. "How noble of you. I wanted to make us even. I wanted you to know what it felt like to lose something, like I did. All those years ago, all you got was a dishonorable discharge for killing my brother."  
  
Tom's crooked smile held irony. "If it makes you feel any better, I punished myself plenty. I'm still not sure how I lived through it. For a long time I did just about every stupid thing I could think of to bring about my demise."  
  
"I hoped you were dead. When _Voyager_ was lost, I figured it was a fitting end." She had, but now she realized even that hadn't completely quelled her bitterness.  
  
"Then _Voyager_ resurfaced, and here I am a Starfleet officer again. Obviously that doesn't sit well with you—which I can understand."  
  
She didn't want his understanding, damn him. "How would you expect me to feel, seeing you get everything you must have ever wanted, having a wife and a child, being lauded as a hero, while my brother never got a chance to do any of those things?"  
  
Tom was silent for several moments, his expression pained. Finally he said, "I'd expect you to hate me."  
  
And she had. So much. At least she thought she had. Ava's hands clenched around her duffel. She realized she was holding it like a shield, but she didn't put it down.  
  
"There's not much point in me saying I wish it had never happened," Tom said when she remained silent. "I wished it a million times, and it never made a difference, just like it doesn't now. I can't change anything. All I can say is that I'm sorry. I always have been, even when I was too afraid to admit my error."  
  
"Afraid?" Ava asked harshly. "That you'd lose your chance at promotion, or be thrown out of Starfleet, or that your father the Admiral would be angry?"  
  
"Yes," Tom admitted. "And I was afraid to face the fact that it was my bad decision that...killed them. I wanted to hide from it, to pretend at any cost that it hadn't happened. So I denied it to everybody, but mostly to myself." His lips twisted and he shook his head. "It didn't work."  
  
Something haunted flashed briefly in Tom's eyes, and Ava wished she hadn't seen it. She didn't want to think about his pain at causing those deaths. She smiled bitterly, recalling again her father's opinion that living with that knowledge was punishment enough. "After Bruno died, my mother was inconsolable. She said he was little more than a boy, and he'd barely started his life. She was as angry as I was when we heard about your belated confession. My father was too at first, but he told my mother that you were also little more than a boy, young enough to make a terrible mistake and handle it badly. Even though I thought he should, he wouldn't condemn you for what you did."  
  
"Your father was far more generous than I deserved," Tom said. "My youth wasn't an excuse."  
  
"No, it wasn't," Ava agreed. They stared at each other for several long seconds. He didn't avoid her gaze, or offer any further defense.  
  
Ava felt the anger inside her dissipate a little, and she took a ragged breath. "The truth is, I don't know what to think anymore. You aren't the same person you were then, and I guess that much I can accept. My father has always said I should forgive you in my heart. He's probably right. But I don't know if I can ever forget what you did."  
  
"I wouldn't expect you to," Tom said. "But I still owe you an apology. I know it's very late, and I know it's far from enough, but it's all I have. I'm truly sorry, Ava. There's not a day of my life that I don't regret my actions, or that I don't think of Bruno and the others and remember how lucky I was to know them."  
  
Ava heard the sincerity in his voice, which shook just a little. There was no pleading in his steady gaze. He was offering her a heartfelt apology, whether she elected to take it or not. She made an instantaneous decision, one she wouldn't have thought she was capable of even a day ago. "I accept your apology."  
  
Tom took a deep breath. "Thank you."  
  
Ava realized she owed him an apology too. "I'm sorry for the past few weeks. For what I tried to do..."  
  
"It doesn't matter," Tom said, cutting her off. "It's forgotten." After a moment he cleared his throat. "You're a fine pilot, Ava. You've been an asset on _Voyager II_. My exit evaluation will reflect that fact."  
  
Ava nodded, understanding his meaning. Tom Paris would give her a good review, based on the quality of her work, uninfluenced by everything else that had passed between them. "Thank you."  
  
They looked at each other silently again, as if neither of them was sure how to end the conversation. Despite the cleared air between them, or because of it, they were both at a loss for words. Finally Ava said, "I'm not rushing you—well, I guess I am, but I was just on my way out."  
  
Tom smiled, with the first trace of his trademark good humor since he'd walked through her door. It was surprisingly nice to see. "Good luck, Ava," he said as he walked past her. He stopped at the door and looked back. "In case you doubt it, your brother would be proud of you."  
  
Without another word he slipped out the door. Ava stared after him, feeling like a weight had been lifted from her chest. The grief might never completely go away, and she'd always miss her big brother; but the darkness that had lodged in one corner of her heart for so long—the bitterness she'd held onto against all reason, instead of letting it fade naturally—that was gone.  
  
She'd never doubted her brother loved her. Despite his teasing, he'd been supportive and protective. But she'd never known he'd talked about her, or thought so highly of her abilities. She was absurdly grateful to have made that discovery about him. It was ironic that she'd come here to take something from Tom Paris, and he'd given her something instead.  
  
Tom had also said her brother would be proud of her. Ava wasn't so sure. That she'd followed in his footsteps to become a pilot, yes. But the way she'd refused to let go of his loss, probably not. Her brother had been the type who never held a grudge, and he would have forgiven Tom without hesitation. She'd always known that, but until now she'd refused to see it, or how her lack of forgiveness had tarnished his memory.  
  
Maybe that was what she'd really come here to find, even though she hadn't known she was searching for it. Not revenge but forgiveness—for Tom, and from her brother.  
  
Ava slung her duffel over her shoulder. She'd come here obsessed with Tom Paris's life, but she was leaving free of that obsession. It felt good. Whatever Tom's future held—and it was probably only good—he'd worked hard to get there while reconciling his past. It was time she did the same.  
  
She walked out the door without a backward glance. Instead of spending two weeks in San Francisco waiting for the _Churchill_ to arrive, she decided she would go home. It had been too long since she'd been there. She could visit her family, and have a long talk with her father. Then she would start over once again—wasn't life only a series of new beginnings anyway?—and make her brother truly proud of her.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Julie


	26. Stardate 56842.8

  
**Crew Quarters, Utopia Planitia—_November 4, 2380, Stardate 56842.8_**  
  
"'Night, Daddy."  
  
Miral held her arms out to him, and Tom took her in a tight hug. She was in her pajamas, freshly bathed, and her hair smelled like her favorite jasmine shampoo. He buried his face in her scent and softness, overwhelmed for a moment by the sense of love and gratitude that occasionally hit him unexpectedly—until she started to squirm.  
  
"Love you, Daddy," Miral said as B'Elanna took her.  
  
"Love you too, Angel," Tom replied.  
  
B'Elanna smiled at him before she took Miral down the hall to bed. Tom watched them disappear into Miral's room and walked to the window. Their quarters were situated in the officer's section, along the outer rim of the main station. From here he could see the vista of the station's shipyards, including the enormous sphere of the enclosed shipyard, and part of the docking ring with its spokes strutting out from the sphere, where some of the ships in the latest stages of construction were tethered. _Voyager II_ had recently been moved there and was just visible, looking like a tiny, graceful ornament hanging against the star-studded black backdrop of space.  
  
The Paris-Torres family would be onboard _Voyager II_ when she departed for the Delta Quadrant in another two months. They'd made that decision over dinner tonight. Miral had been included in that unanimous decision, though her "yea" had been influenced more by his description of flying among the distant stars, and the promise of frequent calls home to her grandparents, than by any comprehensive understanding of how it would affect her life.  
  
Tom felt a jolt of anticipation at the thought of piloting a brand new starship, especially a new _Voyager_. There would be a lot to do before they left: picking and choosing what to take, packing and rearranging, and tying up all the loose ends of their lives here. That wouldn't happen for a while yet, but in the meantime, he had some loose ends of his own to tie up, loose ends that had waited eighteen years already—  
  
"She's down," B'Elanna said as she walked into the living room. "She can't wait to fly 'in the stars' with you."  
  
Tom smiled as B'Elanna joined him. "She also asked when is 'Kissmas' and 'Pixin,' " B'Elanna added, mimicking her daughter. "It's a little early to get her excited about that."  
  
Tom shrugged at B'Elanna's admonishing look. "I read Dr. Suess's 'The Grinch Who Stole Christmas' to her last night. That probably piqued her interest."  
  
"And I suppose Neelix brought up Prixin when he called the other day," B'Elanna said. "I don't know if it's a good thing having her birthday, Christmas, and Prixin all fall within a few weeks of each other. She seems to think it's a month invented especially for her, and she's getting spoiled enough as it is."  
  
Tom smiled. "She's a little kid. Let her get spoiled."  
  
B'Elanna's eyebrows rose. "I'll get back to you on the wisdom of that notion once she's a teenager. So..." she moved slightly behind him and wrapped her arms around his back. "What's on your mind, Flyboy?"  
  
Tom glanced over his shoulder at her. She was giving him that "I know you've been brooding about something" look. He sighed quietly. "Just thinking about decisions."  
  
"We made the right one about _Voyager_," B'Elanna said, referring to the ship without the "two" tacked on, as most were starting to do now. "But it's something else, isn't it? She left the station days ago, you know."  
  
"It's not about her directly," Tom said. His lips quirked. "You weren't really jealous, were you?"  
  
B'Elanna smirked. "You wish. And that's not an answer to my question."  
  
Tom had told B'Elanna about his confrontation with Ava, and all that had transpired between them. Though it had stirred up painful memories, he'd assured her the meeting had ended up being a positive thing. That experience, and the encounter with Rick, had given him a sense of partial resolution. Even if he could never erase his past, maybe he himself, and everyone else who'd been within its sphere of influence, truly could go forward and coexist despite it.  
  
"Tom, you have to put it completely to rest sometime," B'Elanna said. She laid her cheek against his back. "You have a right to move on."  
  
"So does everyone else," Tom said. "B'Elanna, I have to do something I should have done a long time ago."  
  
B'Elanna pulled away from him and gripped his arm, prompting him to turn and face her. "You're not going to Caldik Prime."  
  
Tom wasn't sure if it was a question or a command. He saw the apprehension in B'Elanna's eyes. She was probably worried he intended to immerse himself in the place where his life had once fallen apart, and would relapse into a quagmire of guilt and self-pity. He shook his head. "I don't need to go back there, B'Elanna. Caldik Prime is etched permanently in my mind. I've seen it often enough without actually being there."  
  
B'Elanna had witnessed a few of his bad dreams, though they'd come far more infrequently in recent years. She looked stricken. "Tom, I didn't mean—"  
  
"It's okay," Tom interrupted her. "I have no intention of ever going back there. It wouldn't serve any purpose. But there is one thing I should have done and never did."  
  
"What?" B'Elanna asked.  
  
"Apologize," Tom said. His meeting with Ava had brought about that realization. He might have offered a general apology during his official confession, though he'd been in such a fugue state he couldn't actually remember. But Ava had been the first person to whom he'd offered a personal apology.  
  
"Did I even tell you Odile's parents were at my Starfleet hearing?" Tom asked, though he knew he hadn't. "Her father told me he never wanted to see my face again. I figured everyone else involved would feel the same, so approaching them, even with an apology, would just make their pain worse. Nice of me to spare their feelings, wasn't it?" He smiled self-deprecatingly, but B'Elanna's gaze on him remained steady. "At least that's what I told myself. Of course, it let me off the hook too. And back then I was too absorbed in self-pity to really worry about anyone else."  
  
"So you want to go see the families now and offer them an apology?" B'Elanna asked gently.  
  
Tom shook his head. "No. It is true that some of them probably don't want to see me, even after all this time. I'll send letters." He took a deep breath. "It's been so long—too long—but I owe this to them."  
  
B'Elanna nodded. "I agree. And you owe it to yourself." She laced her fingers in his. "Even if they don't respond, or don't want to accept your apology, that doesn't matter. It doesn't change your intention."  
  
Tom knew B'Elanna was trying to warn him, and she was right. He didn't expect to hear anything back. He wasn't doing this get absolution from anyone, or to set things right. Nothing could do that. But he had to offer what little he had toward that debt, even if it would never be paid. "I'll work on it tomorrow."  
  
"If you want me to be here, I can change my schedule..."  
  
"This is something I have to do on my own," Tom said. "But thanks for offering." He squeezed her hands. "Just knowing you support me means a lot."  
  
"You can send Miral to the Children's Center so she isn't underfoot."  
  
Tom shook his head. "She'll be fine here." And she'd remind him of the best things he'd achieved in his life while he was acknowledging the worst.  
  
B'Elanna let out a small, frustrated sigh. "Okay. But I'll expect you and Miral to meet me for lunch."  
  
Tom figured he'd need the break. Though he knew B'Elanna was motivated out of concern, he didn't resent the fact, especially since she was willing to take a break from her increasingly busy schedule on _Voyager_ to check up on him. "The arboretum?"  
  
"How about the Mess Hall on _Voyager_," B'Elanna suggested. "We can try out the new replicators."  
  
"Have they been recalibrated again?" Tom asked. Last he'd heard, the replicators were still a little bit...off, to put it kindly.  
  
"According to Lieutenant Percy, the hot plain tomato soup is red now instead of chartreuse."  
  
Tom laughed. "Great. I wonder if it tastes remotely like tomato soup. Or if there are any tables and chairs in the Mess Hall yet. But it's a deal. Miral can start getting a feel for the ship."  
  
B'Elanna looked past him out the window, her gaze locking on _Voyager II._ After a moment turned her gaze back to him. "Tom, are you sure?"  
  
"I'd have been outvoted anyway."  
  
"Hey, you're the one who got Miral all excited about it!" B'Elanna protested.  
  
"And there's your answer," Tom said. He smiled at his wife, who relaxed and smiled back. "So, do you think Miral is really asleep?"  
  
"She was pretty worn out," B'Elanna said.  
  
"I guess that means some quality personal time for Mommy and Daddy," Tom said, pulling her toward him.  
  
B'Elanna grinned. "I guess it does, but I have to take a shower first. I spent all day up to my elbows in plasma conduits."  
  
Tom sniffed her hair. "Smells okay to me, but we can take a shower."  
  
"We?" B'Elanna asked archly. "Hmm. I suppose I could use your help with all those hard-to-reach places."  
  
Tom's smile was smug. "I knew there was a reason you couldn't live without me."  
  
B'Elanna laughed as moved away from the window. "Tom, you're the one who can't live without me."  
  
That was true. And as they walked down the hallway, he was grateful all over again for his life, every day of it—even tomorrow.   
****__  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Julie


	27. Stardate 56872.9

  
**Voyager II, Utopia Planitia—_November 15, 2380, Stardate 56872.9_**  
  
Lieutenant Commander B'Elanna Torres bit her lip and tried not to say anything in Klingon or Standard that could be deemed offensive. If the guilty party had been a civilian, one of the outside contractors which Starfleet—for reasons unknown—had engaged to help with the non-technical aspects of the ship's construction, she wouldn't have been so careful. But standing in front of her on the uncarpeted floor was a very young-looking Ensign who should have known better. After counting to ten twice and fifty once, she managed to speak. "The carpets were supposed to be laid by yesterday."  
  
Ensign Remp blanched. If it was possible for a Bolian to become any paler, B'Elanna thought idly, she might have to start performing CPR. "Yes, ma'am. They were. But the carpetlayers are, uh, missing."  
  
"Missing?"  
  
"We haven't seen them for the past three days." Ensign Remp glanced at the PADD he gripped tightly in his right hand.  
  
"And no one asked where they were?"  
  
"No, ma'am." B'Elanna closed her eyes and started to count again. Remp continued, "Commander Xiang said—"  
  
B'Elanna's control cracked as soon as she heard that name. Since she had been spending more and more time on _Voyager II,_ she had had several encounters with the Commander, who was nominally overseeing the later stages of the ship's construction. Each time their paths crossed, her estimation of Xiang and his abilities sank even lower. "Let me make something perfectly clear, Ensign. I don't give a damn about anything Commander Xiang said. This ship is scheduled to launch in six weeks. And now I find that the carpets aren't in and the furniture hasn't arrived yet. Is there something else—anything else—I should also know about?"  
  
The ensign's panicked expression made her fear the worse. "What," she growled.  
  
Remp cringed even more. "There’s a slight problem with the engines, ma'am..."  
  
B'Elanna didn't wait to hear anymore. As she stormed down the hall, the thud of her boots on the metal floor echoed loudly. The few workers she passed got out of her way very quickly.  
  
*  
  
Newly promoted Lieutenant Commander Joseph Carey glanced at Tom Paris before turning his attention back to the young officer standing next to the open wall panel. "Well, maybe you should be concerned that the engines are off-line once more," Joe said. "This is what, the third time in the last twelve hours?"  
  
Ensign Jose Christensen merely shrugged.  
  
"Let me rephrase that," Tom said. "Lieutenant Commander Torres has heard there is a problem with the engines. She'll be down here any minute."  
  
"With all due respect, I don't report to Lieutenant Commander Torres, sir," Christensen said, "but to Commander Xiang."  
  
Tom shook his head in disbelief. "You should still be concerned with staying on her good side, Ensign. She's half Klingon, for one thing. For another, she is _Voyager's _Chief Engineer—or will be whenever this ship finally is commissioned."  
  
"And until then," Christensen said stubbornly, "Commander Xiang is in charge of the engines, as part of the overall construction and installation procedures. I don't do anything without his say-so."  
  
Joe rubbed his nose casually. "I'd be careful about pushing my weight around, if I were you. Torres has quite a temper. Poor Ensign Kim..."  
  
Tom fought to keep a straight face. "Oh, yes—the bat'leth incident. Poor Harry indeed. All he'd been trying to do was realign the warp core matrix. Fortunately, Doctor Zimmerman is a brilliant reconstructive surgeon. You'd never know that she'd...well, no need to go into all the gory details."  
  
"And don't forget about my nose," added Joe. "It was down to the two of us in the fight for Chief Engineer. I've always been grateful that Captain Janeway insisted that it would be fisticuffs. I don't think my wife would have been happy if Torres had..."  
  
Christensen's jaw dropped slightly . "I read that she had a bit of a temper, but you're kidding, right?"  
  
"Not unless you feel a broken nose is something to make light of, Ensign," Joe said sternly. Christensen gulped.  
  
"I should know," Tom said as he rubbed his elbow. "I married her. Trust me, Ensign, if you want to stay healthy—I mean, if you want to ensure that this project is a success—always inform her immediately at the slightest _hint_ of a problem."  
  
At that moment the turbolift opened.  
  
"Lieutenant Commander Torres, ma'am!" Christensen snapped to attention. "I'm in the process of preparing a complete report for you. If you would come with me, ma'am."  
  
"Uh, thank you. I'll be right there, Ensign," B'Elanna said. She turned to Tom and mouthed, "Who the hell is this?"  
  
Tom chuckled at her puzzled look. "I'll explain everything over lunch," he whispered as he leaned over and kissed her quickly. "But right now, well, just be sure you mention bat'leths a couple of times."  
  
B'Elanna looked at Tom, then over at Joe Carey, then back to Christensen. "Whatever. Well, let me go find out what those idiots have done now."  
  
Joe laughed as B'Elanna moved off, a very nervous Christensen trotting at her heels. "That wasn’t very nice of us, was it."  
  
"No, it wasn’t," Tom said with a wicked grin. "But we're doing him a big favor in the long run. Good job, by the way. I never knew you were such a talented actor!"  
  
"I have many hidden talents, Tom," Joe said smugly.  
  
"I'm sure you do," Tom answered. He watched as Joe retrieved a PADD and began entering data into a nearby console. "And we'll be missing those talents of yours before too long. Are you sure you won't change your mind and come along on the mission? Just think, a return to the Delta Quadrant, this time for just a year. It should be fun."  
  
Joe smiled. "I don't doubt it. Part of me would like to come, but I have Annie and the boys to think of."  
  
"And a bun in the oven. I understand." Tom said. Suddenly, he grinned. "You do realize this means B'Elanna will have to break in a new deputy engineer. 'Break' being the operative word."  
  
Joe refused to make a joke out of it. "Sorry, but I'm staying put. Maybe when more vessels are equipped with transwarp, and Starfleet establishes regular flights to the Delta Quadrant, I'll come. I _am_ rather curious to know what has happened since we passed through that region of space. But until that future date, I'll continue my work here."  
  
"I don't blame you." Tom glanced at his chronometer and frowned. "I wonder how long B'Elanna's going to be? It's not like the engines are the only things that have gone wrong today. What do you think the odds are that I'm going to end up eating by myself?"  
  
"Pretty good, especially if we don't find out what happened to the carpetlayers," Joe said, continuing to work.  
  
"They went on a three day binge in some local dive, I heard," Tom said with a shrug. "It would probably be faster for us to lay the stuff ourselves."  
  
"Who do you mean by 'us'?" Joe said. "I'm scheduled to have a meeting with Commander Xiang in an hour. That is, if B'Elanna's finished with him by then."  
  
*  
  
Commander Xiang hit his comm badge a little harder than was necessary. "Xiang to Ensign Singer. Have you located the employees from Thor Carpetlayers yet?"  
  
"Aye, Commander," Singer responded. Xiang's relieved smile quickly faded at the next words. "They were discovered at Marchelina's Pub. They won't be laying any carpet today, Commander, that's for sure, and probably not tomorrow either."  
  
Xiang swore loudly. "Where are they now?"  
  
"Station Security has them in temporary custody right now, on a 'drunk and disorderly' charge, but they'll be sending them over to the infirmary soon."  
  
"Belay that, Ensign—I want them thrown in the brig until they sober up."  
  
"Wouldn't it be better, sir, to just send them to the infirmary for detox hypos?"  
  
"Damn it, they deserve to suffer! You tell Security to keep those men in custody until further notice." Xiang signed off in a huff.  
  
His combadge chirped. "Xiang here."  
  
"Ensign Remp, sir. Sir, Commander Torres is here with me now, sir and she's not very happy. I'm afraid, sir, she heard about the engines—"  
  
Xiang groaned, past caring if anyone could hear him or not. Not that Klingon battle-ax again! The Commander closed his eyes and wondered if his day—or month—could possibly get any worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Christina


	28. Stardate 56877.3

  
**_Voyager II_, Utopia Planitia—_November 17, 2380, Stardate 56877.3_**  
  
"So, what do you think, Kathryn?" Hayes asked as they left the transporter room and began their official tour of inspection.  
  
Janeway stepped carefully over a roll of standard Starfleet gray carpeting that partially blocked the corridor of section B on Deck 6. She stopped in front of an open circuit panel.  
  
"I think there's a lot of work to be done here, Admiral," she replied, and leaned forward to examine the intricate wiring inside the box. "Look at this. Someone's forgotten to connect the bio-neural relay coupler to the conversion socket."  
  
Admiral Hayes smiled as he watched her reach into the unit and attend to the matter herself. "She's definitely your ship, Captain," Hayes said.  
  
She returned his grin over her shoulder, and then snapped the panel door shut. "That she is, Admiral. Or at least she will be by the time she's finished. From the inside out."  
  
Once again Janeway stepped over the carpet to return to his side. She had been looking forward to this day—her first inspection of _Voyager II_—ever since she'd accepted her command. She'd pored over the blueprints for weeks, and was familiar with every aspect of the plans. She'd bombarded the designers with questions, suggestions and critiques almost daily, and Chakotay had commented more than once that the crew at Utopia Planitia was going to be positively ecstatic when _Voyager II_ finally left for the Delta Quadrant.  
  
"So will I, Chakotay, so will I," she'd replied one night, after a particularly frustrating day dealing with the "idiots in the bureaucracy," as she habitually referred to them.  
  
"Don't forget, it's going to be different this time, Kathryn," he'd reminded her. "We're not going to be alone out there, with no one to answer to except ourselves. The bureaucracy is coming with us."  
  
She sighed. "I know that, Chakotay. But still, I'm hopeful we'll be away from the worst of it."  
  
He'd grinned. "I'm not so sure. I think I'd better suggest to B'Elanna that she install a double check command code on all the air-locks, just in case you're tempted to space someone who asks you for a form in triplicate while you're in the middle of a battle with some friendly Delta Quadrant natives."  
  
"No battles this time, Chakotay," she reminded him. "Just re-establishing ties with the 37's planet, and maybe some exploration on the side, right?"  
  
"Is that a rhetorical question?" he asked, dodging the elbow aimed at his ribcage. He peered over her shoulder at the specs she had spread out over her desk. "She looks great Kathryn, just great."  
  
_And she does look great,_ Janeway thought, as she and the Admiral continued their walk down the corridor of the newly constructed ship.  
  
She had chosen to conduct this first tour during Gamma shift, explaining to Admiral Hayes that she'd be able to get a better feel for the ship without the distracting bustle of any construction workers nearby. He had concurred; and now, as she looked around her, she was glad she'd done it this way.  
  
_Voyager II_ was well on its way to completion—a good thing, as the launch date was set for the end of December. The hull was intact, the bulkheads installed, the walls paneled, and, notwithstanding the roll in the center of this particular corridor, even most of the carpets had been laid.  
  
They stopped in front of the turbolift, and Admiral Hayes nodded. She summoned the lift, and it arrived quickly and quietly, the doors opening almost before it came to a complete stop. They stepped inside.  
  
"Deck 7," Janeway commanded, and Hayes looked at her in surprise.  
  
"You're not starting on the Bridge, Kathryn?"  
  
"Later," she said, "There's something else I want to see first."  
  
Hayes nodded. "This is your tour. You call the shots."  
  
They exited, and Janeway immediately took the lead, heading toward the aft section of the ship. When she'd first looked at _Voyager II's_ blueprints, she'd noticed the auxiliary computer core had been redesigned. At first glance the changes had made sense, but when she'd looked more closely, she'd realized the core's connectors contained two major bypasses. In a detailed memo to the Engineering Design Corps, she'd explained that this would have an adverse effect on the efficiency of the system. B'Elanna had noticed the same thing, and they'd worked together to come up with an alternative design. Neither of them, however, had as yet received a satisfactory response.  
  
The doors to the core bay were wide open, which didn't please her. Nor did the sound of voices coming from behind the core.  
  
"I thought the ship would be more or less deserted..." she started to say to the Admiral, but paused suddenly, holding up her hand signaling him to do the same.  
  
"Seth, I don't think that's the right connector," a woman's voice said, sounding concerned.  
  
"What do you mean, V'rena?"  
  
"Check the schematic. It shows a triple-sided coupling there. You've got a dual."  
  
Janeway heard the clink of metal against metal.  
  
"There aren't any triples here. And the dual fits perfectly."  
  
"Seth, that will cause a short within a few minutes. The whole computer core could go off-line."  
  
"So what? It's only the auxiliary, not the main computer. Anyway, there's a backup reservoir within one meter of the coupling, so it doesn't matter."  
  
"I don't think you should leave it that way. It's too dangerous."  
  
"It's not dangerous, V'rena, and besides," Seth added lightly "No one will ever know."  
  
Janeway stepped into view, trying to control her fury. "But _I _will know. You," she gestured to the young man kneeling beside an open panel at the bottom of the core, "Stand up."  
  
The man, presumably Seth, looked at her curiously. "And you are?"  
  
"Captain Kathryn Janeway, the captain of this vessel." Janeway nodded to herself as Seth's expression changed radically. As he scrambled to his feet, she noted he wasn't wearing a Starfleet uniform, but one that indicated he was an employee of an outside contracting company. "Who do you work for?" she asked him.  
  
"Morna Corporation," he hesitated for a moment, "Ma'am."  
  
"And you?" she asked the young woman, who was standing at attention beside her co-worker.  
  
"The same, ma'am," she replied.  
  
"Seth, is it?" She turned her attention once again to the young man.  
  
"Um... yes."  
  
"Well, Seth, if you're an example of the type of personnel that Morna Corporation hires these days, I'd say they're in a pretty sad state." She turned to V'rena. "What's your status?"  
  
"I'm just a trainee, ma'am. Seth, I mean, Mr. Grubnik, is my supervisor."  
  
"I think not," Janeway said to her. "You've just been promoted. And you," she glared at Seth. "You're dismissed or fired or whatever you want to call it. I don't want to ever see you on my ship, or any other for that matter, ever again." She held out her hand. "Give me your I.D. and your access permit."  
  
He handed them over without a word of protest.  
  
"Now get out of here, both of you."  
  
She brushed by them, and knelt down beside the core to inspect the connector paths.  
  
Admiral Hayes, who had stood silently by throughout the incident, moved forward to join her. "How does it look?" he asked.  
  
"Well, at least the engineers incorporated my design suggestions," she sighed. "They've done away with the extra routing and cleaned up the conduit pattern. It looks good."  
  
She picked up a circuit-modulator the two workers had left on the floor in their haste to depart and placed it carefully in the toolbox beside the core.  
  
"I think I need a cup of coffee," Janeway said as she stood up. "We can check out the Mess Hall and the replicator system at the same time."  
  
*  
  
As soon as they entered the Mess Hall, Janeway stopped short. "I can understand why the crew quarters don't have any furniture yet, but I expected to at least find some chairs and tables in here." She shrugged. "But it's not important. What would you like, Admiral?"  
  
"Nothing for me, Kathryn, but you go ahead," Hayes replied.  
  
"I intend to!" She laughed and walked quickly across the room towards a bank of replicators set into the wall. She stopped in front of one of them and stood with her hands on her hips, contemplating her options.  
  
"I guess I'd better stick to the basics," she said finally. "Coffee, black."  
  
There was a soft whir and a mug appeared, an aromatic steam rising from its center.  
  
Janeway smiled. As long as she could get a cup of coffee... She removed the cup from the replicator and took a sip, then made a face.  
  
"What's the matter?" the Admiral asked.  
  
"Weak as dishwater," she replied, dumping the cup and its contents into the recycler. "This unit definitely needs work. I'll make a note of it."  
  
*  
  
"Bridge."  
  
The doors released with a familiar whoosh and Kathryn Janeway stepped onto the bridge of her ship for the first time.  
  
The design was almost identical to that of the first _Voyager_, but here and there, she could see signs of change. The Ops station was larger, to accommodate some of the newer communications equipment—a lot of it based upon data and technology the Pathfinder Project developed in order to stay in touch with the first _Voyager_ during its final years in the Delta Quadrant. The Security station was larger too, with extra space to move around. Janeway walked over to inspect it more closely, and nodded in approval. _Tuvok would have liked this,_ she thought, as she noted that some of the improvements he had suggested had been incorporated into the systems displays. With a pang, she realized once again that he wouldn't be joining her on this mission.  
  
She looked over at the engineering console and saw the installation was not complete. In fact, there were cables dangling from the side of the warp relay panel. Kathryn frowned as she approached, wondering whether B'Elanna had been here recently. She doubted it. She knew her chief engineer would never leave work half-finished like this. Quite the opposite, she decided. B'Elanna would have torn a stripe off whoever left any work-station in this state of disarray. Kathryn picked up a hyperspanner that was lying underneath the console and pocketed it.  
  
"I think I'll turn this in to the Engineering Department," she said as she turned back towards the center of the bridge. "I imagine Commander Torres will know who it belongs to."  
  
Hayes nodded. "Good idea," he responded. "Have you seen this?" He pointed to a large console attached to the arm of the captain's chair.  
  
She approached and peered at the vid-screen in the center of the console. It was larger than the one she was used to. She examined the unit for a moment and touched a button at its base. The console rotated so it faced away from the chair. For some reason she was reluctant to sit down just yet.  
  
"I've had one of these in my office for a while," Hayes explained, and he proceeded to activate the unit. "But this is the first one that's been installed on a starship. There," he said, as the monitor came quickly to life, the Starfleet insignia immediately filling the screen.  
  
Janeway leaned over to take a closer look. "What's so special about this unit? I'm sorry, but except for the size, it looks pretty standard to me."  
  
"This holo-communicator has a few new features," he explained and punched a code into the panel. The screen divided into six smaller ones. "We can now be in contact with Headquarters and several Starfleet vessels all at once, with everyone appearing in three-dimensional holographic form. It's as close as we can come to transporting everyone into the same conference room for a meeting."  
  
"I see," Janeway replied. She couldn't help wondering whether this meant she'd be bombarded by two or more Starfleet desk jockeys at a time instead of just one.  
  
"Don't you want to sit down, Captain?" Hayes asked her with a twinkle in his eye.  
  
"I..." Janeway turned and sat. The chair was slightly higher than she was used to, and it took a moment to adjust to that. The padding was thicker as well, and the seat cushion almost felt like it was embracing her. She suspected it had embedded sensors that allowed it to conform more easily to the body shape of the occupant. She leaned back and crossed her legs. "It's good," she said, "I think I like the feel of it."  
  
"I thought you might," the Admiral replied as he sat down in the first officer's seat.  
  
Janeway noticed a small panel on the underside of the chair's arm. "I wonder what this thing does?" she said as she gave it a quick tap. Suddenly, the deep grinding noise of metal on metal resounded throughout the Bridge, and the chair tilted crazily to one side. She just barely managed to jump to her feet before the entire chair slid off its base and crashed onto the floor.  
  
"Now there's an interesting feature," she said after she'd caught her breath. "I wonder if it's for captains who get too carried away with their own importance?!"  
  
"I didn't notice it in the specs," Hayes replied, laughing. "I wonder if they're planning on making it standard on all the new ships?"  
  
"It might not be a bad idea. I can think of a few people who could benefit from..." She grinned suddenly. "Never mind!" She entered another note into her PADD before making a cursory inspection of the Ready Room and conference room.  
  
"Kathryn, I've got to leave you now," Hayes said to her as he headed to the turbo lift. "I've got a meeting at Headquarters I can't miss. And I imagine you won't mind being on your own here."  
  
"I'll be just fine," she replied. "And thank you, Admiral," Janeway followed him onto the second level of the bridge and patted the railing directly above the command seat. "I know you've been keeping an eye on her for me."  
  
She turned back to look out over her new bridge once more, remembering the many years she had spent on one that was virtually identical, and wondering about the adventures yet to come.

**(End Act 4)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by CyberMum


	29. Stardate 56919.7 (Act 5)

  
**Act 5: December 2380-January 2381**  
  
**Cobb, County Cork, Ireland—_December 2, 2380, Stardate 56919.7_**  
  
Anne Carey walked carefully into the living room, carrying two mugs of steaming tea. She smiled at the back of her husband's head as he stood before the fireplace. JJ and Patrick were both out, and the house was silent, except for the crackling of the fire. It was raw and foggy outside, which made it seem all the more comfortable inside.  
  
As she watched, Joe picked up a glass bottle from the mantel and peered at the starship within. She frowned slightly. Was he inspecting his handiwork, or feeling nostalgic?  
  
She set the mugs down on the coffee table, and the sound snapped him out of his reverie. "Thanks, Annie," he said, turning around. "I forgot about them. I hope I didn't let them steep too long."  
  
"They're fine," she replied. "Come and sit down. Let's enjoy the quiet."  
  
He sat beside her on the couch, and their shoulders touched. She still relished the physical connection, even a year after his return. It was so wonderful to have him home again.  
  
"We should get the tree tomorrow," he said. "We have a lot to be thankful for again this year."  
  
"Yes," she agreed. "A new baby on the way, for one thing. And the one-year anniversary of your return. My tenure. And very interesting job offers."  
  
He grinned, and clinked his mug with hers. "Not offers anymore, remember?" he said. "We've already made the decision."  
  
She sighed. "I know, Joe. But I just want you to be really sure about this. It's not like you can change your mind later. Once _Voyager II_ leaves, it's gone. And I can't help but think that you belong there. You've dreamed of exploration since you were a boy. There's not a whole lot to see on Utopia Planitia."  
  
"Not a lot to see," he said, "but plenty to do. You're forgetting my other love, besides you, the boys, and the new baby, that is. Engineering! My work there over the past year on the new transwarp designs has been the most technically interesting of my whole career. I've really enjoyed it."  
  
"You could continue that work on the new _Voyager_," she pointed out, evenly.  
  
"No," he said abruptly, standing up. "Not without you, and not without my children. I was gone for nearly a decade, Annie! I missed so much of their lives, and yours."  
  
"Maybe we could go with you," she said, although she'd never given it any serious thought. "Tom and B'Elanna are bringing Miral."  
  
"Have you lost your mind?" he said, laughing. "We're having a baby in a few months! You just got tenure! And we'd have to uproot the boys. JJ wants to go to the Academy. That's only a couple of years away. It's just not practical. Besides, even with a specific mission to carry out, the Delta Quadrant's not the friendliest and safest of places. I won't put you in harm's way just because I like to tromp around on alien worlds and warp through space."  
  
"Maybe I wouldn't mind tromping around on a few alien worlds, myself," she pointed out. "And you know JJ would give his right arm to do just that!"  
  
"Well, I like JJ's right arm right where it is," he said. "I'd rather not let the Borg have it." Tenderly, he placed his palm on her abdomen. "And you don't even want to know what a Borg maturation chamber looks like..."  
  
Despite the warmth of the fire, Annie shuddered. "Good point," she conceded. Once again, she followed her husband's gaze to the bottled ship on the mantel.  
  
"My time on _Voyager_ was the experience of a lifetime, Annie," he said, quietly. "But it was enough. I'm tired. Right now, the only challenge I want is the challenge of spending time with my family. And I'm happy—I swear it! I honestly love my work on Utopia Planitia, and I was excited when Captain La Forge offered me a permanent position there."  
  
"All right, then," she said, putting her arm around his waist. "I just wanted to play devil's advocate for a bit. And I wanted to be sure you were sure. You've convinced me. We stay."  
  
"We stay," he confirmed. "All of us."  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by monkee


	30. Stardate 56943.5

  
**_Voyager II_, Utopia Planitia—_December 11, 2380, Stardate 56943.5_**  
  
Commander Xiang looked around the small science lab he'd designated his temporary office on _Voyager II_ while the construction work was going on. There was no one else in sight, which was good, as it meant there was no one to overhear his conversation. If Commander Torres—or even worse, Captain Janeway—heard about this latest fiasco, he was dead meat. His next of kin might as well start collecting his pension benefits. He glared at the viewscreen once more.  
  
"The _what_ is _where_?" he asked frostily, hoping he sounded as menacing as he felt. Whatever threat he managed to evoke, however, was wasted on the Vulcan Quartermaster.  
  
"Sir, as I stated in my previous communication, the ship's furniture consignment is still in storage," Lieutenant Sorban said.  
  
"I heard that part," Xiang said, having difficulty keeping his temper at bay. "What I want to know is _why_."  
  
"We did not receive Form Seven-Six-Two-Three dash Alpha: Notification of Completion of Job Request Three-Oh-Six—"  
  
Xiang cut in, "I know that technically the carpeting hasn't been laid on all the decks yet, but you really don't expect us to put carpeting in Engineering or in the shuttle bays, for that matter!"  
  
"It is not my job to interpret the regulations, Commander," Sorban said in an infuriatingly calm voice, "but to enforce them. And until I receive the requisite paperwork, I cannot grant your request."  
  
"We want the furniture _here_, not in some warehouse in Minsk!" Xiang wished for a moment that he wasn't bald—so he could at least relieve his feelings by pulling his hair out. "You already sent us the Bridge chairs, as well as the furnishings for the Captain's Ready Room, so why can't you just release the rest of the ship's furniture?"  
  
"That was an error," Sorban informed him. "I have already submitted the necessary forms to have that previous shipment recalled."  
  
"But you can't do that!" Xiang thought of what Captain Janeway's reaction would be if her custom-made command chair or Ready Room desk suddenly went missing. He gulped. Then again, could it be any worse than when the Chief Medical Officer discovered that Sickbay had no supply cabinets, gurneys or biobeds? Xiang hadn't expected a hologram—just an artificial construct, after all—to get so incensed. Or yell so loudly. "Who is your superior officer, Lieutenant?"  
  
"Captain Franklin Jarvis, sir."  
  
"Is Captain Jarvis available to speak with me?"  
  
"Captain Jarvis is on a temporary leave of absence, due to health concerns," Sorban responded. "I am in charge of the supply office until further notice."  
  
Xiang could well understand why Jarvis became ill, if he had to deal with this Vulcan on a regular basis. Wildly, he wondered about the feasibility of putting together a commando team to break into the warehouse and steal _Voyager II's_ furniture. It would certainly be faster than trying to untangle all of this bureaucratic red tape. Commander Torres' husband seemed the type who would be interested in such a venture. Unfortunately, Starfleet frowned upon such actions. He took a deep breath and tried again. "Lieutenant, all I want to know is when we can expect that shipment!"  
  
"Three weeks after we receive Quartermaster Department forms Two-Four-Eight dash Delta, Three-One-Seven dash Beta; and a new Seven-Six-Two dash Alpha with a supplemental form Seven-Six-Five dash Omega, describing the delay, sir."  
  
Xiang had the sensation of talking to a duranium wall. How was he going to explain to Commander Torres why there were still no chairs in Engineering, or her office? "I'll get back to you," he said and ended the transmission. Quartermasters in general tended to be humorless individuals who were entirely too fixated on details and procedure, at the expense of the big picture. Having to deal with one who was Vulcan was the ultimate match made in hell. He heaved another sigh. Not that insults were going to solve the problem...or any of the other problems they'd been having recently.  
  
He hoped Commander Torres wouldn't mind sitting in one of the chairs he'd brought from home...  
  
No sooner did her image come into his mind then the commander herself walked through the lab door. "Commander Xiang, my engineers are getting more than a little annoyed by having to either stand or sit on the deck while they're working. It's very...inefficient." She coughed slightly before adding, "So what's the story about the chairs for my department? When can we expect them to arrive?"  
  
From the way Commander Torres winced as she said, "inefficient," Xiang thought the reference must have meant a lot more to her than it did to him, but he couldn't deny her charge. This situation was ridiculous. Lieutenant Sorban was ridiculous. And he was about to have his head handed to him by a bat'leth-wielding half-Klingon officer if he didn't come up with a reasonable explanation for the delay.  
  
And the only reasonable explanation he could come up with was the truth.  
  
"The _p'tak_ wants to take _back_ the furniture that's already been delivered because the _ngIm_ _FORMS_ haven't been sent to...Kahless! Give me strength!" she exclaimed after he'd finished relating the facts to her. She slapped her hand on the top of her head before burying her face in her hands, groaning audibly.   
  
When Torres finally took her hands away from her face, she placed them rather gently on the worktable Commander Xiang had commandeered for use as a desk. To his surprise, she actually looked quite calm. The commander tilted her head to one side and asked, in a very even tone of voice, "You said this _p'tak_ is a lieutenant, and he's told you he's replacing Captain Jarvis. How is that possible? Is the Quartermaster Division so hard up for officers, lieutenants can replace captains who are on leave? I can't believe there isn't at least one higher-ranked officer in that chain of command whom we can contact to straighten this out. A lieutenant commander, maybe?" She looked up at the ceiling. "You know, I'm not fond of all this bureaucratic nonsense, but if they won't budge and we have to play their game, we'll play it." She sighed deeply. "And if we have to fill out a form before this Vulcan quartermaster will perform his duties in a logical manner, I'll do it, as long as it means we'll get our chairs in Engineering. Where can I find this form, anyway?"  
  
"That's a problem, too. Sorban speaks...bureaucratese. He spouts out chains of numbers and letters, but when I try to locate those forms in the database, I can't seem to find most of them. It's possible someone at Headquarters has to fill them out."  
  
"I take it Lieutenant Sorban hasn't shared the actual procedures to be followed with you. You're just supposed to know all of them to the Nth degree without any guidance from him. Why didn't you tell me Sorban was stonewalling you before this?" She leaned forward, closer to him, and rested her forearms on the table. When she looked at him little strangely, Xiang realized he'd automatically leaned away from her, the closer she came. "Commander?" she asked.  
  
"One of my lieutenants heard some, uh, _rumors_ going around that you might get upset and, well, I wasn't sure how well you'd take it if I told you the reasons for the delay."   
  
"What, do you think I'll take a bat'leth to you if I don't get what I want?" Torres laughed for a few seconds, but when Xiang didn't laugh too, she sighed again and shook her head in resignation. "Let me guess. This lieutenant of yours was speaking with Lieutenant Commander Paris." After he shrugged slightly, she added, "and Lieutenant Commander Carey, too? I'm supposed to go around swinging a bat'leth at everyone who doesn't bend to my will? Commander Xiang, do you have any idea how big one of those things are? Trust me. There's no way I could hide one of them in my uniform without slashing myself to pieces."   
  
Xiang felt so foolish, he didn't know what to say. Fortunately, she took the lead. "Well, here's what we need to do. We contact Personnel and request the Quartermaster Division's roster. If there's someone higher-ranked in the chain of command than Sorban, we need to complain to that officer about the lack of cooperation from their staff, and from Lieutenant Sorban in particular, regarding this _extremely important transwarp vessel project,_ which Admirals Hayes and Ch'tin have identified as a _top priority_, and that if we cannot obtain satisfactory service from the Quartermaster Division, we will_ bring this matter to their attention_. And if there really _isn't_ anyone between Sorban and Captain Jarvis, we need to let Captain Janeway know so _she_ can go to Hayes and Ch'tin about this. Lieutenant Sorban might find himself back on Vulcan and busted to crewman--if he's still in Starfleet at all--after the obstructive way he's been dealing with you. I know that's what I'd do with him if I had the chance."  
  
"I...uh, yes. That sounds like a good plan."  
  
"Let me know how it goes. If Personnel gives you a hard time, I'd be happy to follow up with them." She laughed slightly. "Maybe I'll have my husband and Joe Carey contact them ahead of time so they can feed them the same line of targ manure they gave your lieutenant. I can always bring our ceremonial bat'leth over and hang it up in my office, where Personnel will get a great view of it when I call them." She twitched an eyebrow at him, and he felt comfortable enough to smile at her.  
  
When Commander Torres got up from the chair, it rocked back and forth rather alarmingly. "What kind of chair is this, anyway? It feels like it might collapse any moment...just like Captain Janeway's ridiculous chair on the Bridge."  
  
"It's sturdy enough, Commander. It's a folding chair. I brought it from my apartment. Four of them, actually. If you'd like to borrow one for your office until yours arrives, I'd be happy to let you use it."  
  
"Thanks for the offer. I think Engineering will have to make do standing or sitting on the deck for the time being." She was laughing as she walked towards the door but stopped before she got there. Turning back to look at him over her shoulder, she added, "And if they insist on repossessing some furniture, make them take the captain's chair. I don't think she'll mind. The damn thing is just a pile of...recyclable materials. If you know what I mean."  
  
And he did.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Christina, with Rocky and jamelia


	31. Stardate 56949.7

  
**_Voyager II,_ Utopia Planitia—_December 13, 2380, Stardate 56949.7_**  
  
It was his first tour of duty and as he walked down the sleekly rounded corridors of _Voyager II,_ Ensign Murphy couldn't contain the spring in his step. When he'd first gotten the assignment, he'd hardly believed his eyes. He'd scanned the PADD listing assignments for new graduates at least a million times, and sure enough, he had been assigned to the Engineering department under the supervision of Lieutenant Commander B'Elanna Torres. It was a plum assignment, to say the very least, and the others in his class had been visibly jealous. After all, Murphy wasn't known for performance in the Engineering labs. He tended to be clumsy with his hands, but when it came to passing the mandatory Engineering boards, Murphy had wowed everyone with his grasp of theoretical knowledge. He credited his high scores towards landing his current assignment on _Voyager II_.  
  
Murphy rounded a corner, looking in awe at the new technology he saw on the wall panels. He was so absorbed in the new sights that he didn't see the exposed seam in the recently installed carpet—not until it was too late. The toe of his newly polished boot caught the edge and he went sprawling face down on the floor. He lay there for a second before trying, with as much dignity as he could muster, to get to his feet. He was still gathering his things, his PADDs and his carefully packed lunch, when he realized he was staring at a pair of boots.  
  
"Can I help you?"  
  
Murphy looked up. The voice belonged to a worried-looking officer. He noted the three pips on the man's collar. Shamefacedly, Murphy stood up and hoped that he hadn't completely ruined his new uniform in his fall.  
  
"You must be new," the Commander continued. "I haven't seen you around before. Your name and posting?"  
  
"Ensign Murphy, sir," he said. "Ludwig Murphy, but my friends call me Lucky." He thrust his hand toward the other man.  
  
After a second of hesitation, the commander took Murphy's hand and pressed it briefly. "I'm Commander Xiang."  
  
"Pleased to meet you," Murphy said. "Today's my first day. I'm assigned to Engineering. My shift begins at 1200 hours."  
  
"Ah, then you'd better get down there. Commander Torres runs a tight ship, so to speak." Xiang passed his hand over his face. "I just came from there."  
  
"Yes, sir." Murphy glanced down; an edge of the carpet had curled up. "About the carpet...?"  
  
"I'll get someone to deal with it. You'd better hurry. Commander Torres likes her people to be on time."  
  
Murphy hurried past the commander. _What a way to start a new job_, he thought with dismay. Already, he and his clumsy feet had managed to make a mess of things. Puffing out his chest, he decided he'd just make up for it by being the best darn engineer Commander Torres had ever seen.  
  
A quick check of the chronometer as he approached Engineering revealed that it was a few minutes after 1200 hours. He sighed. Showing up for work late on the first day was not a good way to start off. It wasn't even his fault. The shuttle from Earth was delayed, and he didn't arrive on Utopia Planitia until 1130. _Ah well, I'll make it up by working an extra hour at the end of my shift for the rest of the week,_ Murphy thought.  
  
As he entered Engineering, he noticed that the room was mostly empty. There was just one engineer working diligently at his workstation. Summoning all of his courage, Murphy walked up to the engineer.  
  
"I'm Ensign Murphy," he said, "Ludwig Murphy."  
  
"How very nice for you," came the curt reply.  
  
"I'm new."  
  
This got the engineer's response. He turned around slowly. Murphy was quick to note the two pips on the engineer's collar. "New?" This was said with a bit of arrogance.  
  
"Just graduated from the Academy last month. By the way, my friends call me Lucky."  
  
"I'm Lieutenant Gerald Percy," the lieutenant said. "The others are at lunch in the Mess Hall, you're free to join them."  
  
"No, I brought my lunch," Murphy said eagerly. He held up his now smashed packet. "Cheese sandwich, an apple..."  
  
Percy held up a hand. "No need for details, Ensign. I'm a busy man."  
  
"What I'm trying to say is I don't need to waste time going to the Mess Hall. I can start right now."  
  
"Hmmm..." Percy contemplated the monitor in front of him. "We'll start you out easy. What do you know about gel packs?"  
  
Murphy thought. Hard. He'd had an entire course in neural gel packs but he was drawing a blank. He could _see_ the page in his PADD that had given an overview of the technology. Feeling more confident, Murphy recited obediently, "Bio-neural gel packs are organic computer circuits composed of synthetic cerebral neurons, suspended in a nutrient gel medium..." he let his voice drift away, hoping his answer would satisfy Percy.  
  
"Right, good enough." Percy handed Murphy a PADD. "In Panel A, section thirteen, we just installed some new packs. Check to make sure each one is aligned properly with the others and that all of the microfibers are in direct contact with the circuitry. Remember, we need each of these packs to be working at full-capacity to ensure smooth navigation. This is important, Ensign."  
****__  
"Thank you, sir," Murphy said, feeling very important indeed. He took the PADD, briefly scanned it, and headed to Panel A, section thirteen. He found a toolkit near the panel. Apparently someone had been working there earlier. Feeling quite proud of himself, Murphy found the appropriate tool to remove the bolts holding the panel to the wall. The panel clattered to the floor, so loudly, Murphy looked around quickly to see if anyone had noticed. Engineering was now completely deserted, however. Even Percy had vanished. Taking a deep breath and deciding to take a minute to eat in an attempt to calm his nerves and shaking hands, Murphy made himself comfortable on the floor of Engineering. He leaned back against the wall and unwrapped his cheese sandwich, munching on it thoughtfully. He finished off the sandwich—all but the crusts—and cursorily wiped his hands on his uniform pants. He couldn't find a place to throw away the remnants of his sandwich, so he simply waded up the foil wrapping and left it on the side, planning to throw it away later. Feeling more confident, he turned back to the gel packs.  
  
The diagnostics only took fifteen minutes. By the time Murphy was finished, the engineers had started to come back from lunch. Murphy scrambled to pack his scattered tools; it wouldn't look good to be a slob around these people on his first day on the job. One day, when they saw what kind of work he could do, then he could spread himself out more comfortably. He beamed in pride as he surveyed the gel packs. He'd followed procedures exactly, using the tricorder to inspect each connection and then switching to medical mode to verify the health of each gel pack. He had completed the work efficiently and he was sure that Commander Torres—when he finally got to meet her—would approve wholeheartedly of the job he'd done.  
  
Murphy saw that Percy had returned to his workstation. As he started to cross Engineering to talk to his new mentor—Murphy was sure he could count on Percy to help him navigate through the intricacies of a Starfleet career—he suddenly became aware of the silence in the room. No one was talking, no one was moving. Murphy stopped in his tracks. It was only then he was aware of the half-Klingon—obviously B'Elanna Torres—standing in the middle of Engineering, her hands on her hips. A shiver ran down Murphy's back.  
  
"Who. Worked on. The gel packs?" her voice was dangerously calm.  
  
There was silence, a little scuffling of feet, but no one responded. Lieutenant Percy, standing behind Commander Torres, looked down at his feet.  
  
"There is a massive infection in the gel packs," Torres went on. "They were perfectly healthy when I left here." Frustration was evident in her voice. "Who touched them?"  
  
Finally, Percy stepped forward. "It's my fault, Commander."  
  
Torres whipped around. "Lieutenant, I'm surprised. You, of all people, should know better than to touch the gel packs directly with your hands. Do I have to remind you that the gel pack membranes are thin? That they easily transport minute particles from skin into the neural circuitry itself? That a massive infection like this spreads within seconds? And that to eliminate a macrobiotic infection this malignant, the entire panel must be completely replaced? Isn't this the kind of thing all second-year engineers at the Academy learn?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
Murphy couldn't stand it; his new friend was taking the blame for his mistake. He stepped forward boldly. "Commander Torres, it wasn't Lieutenant Percy who infected the gel packs. It was me."  
  
Torres twirled to face Murphy. "And you are?"  
  
"Ludwig Murphy, Commander. Reporting for duty as ordered."  
  
"Where are your papers?" Torres barked.  
  
"Uh." Murphy was at a loss. And then he remembered. He'd left the PADD with his orders over by Panel A, section 13, with his lunch. Torres growled at him, her teeth parted slightly. He backed away. "I'll get them, ma'am."  
  
"I'll come with you," Torres said. The inflection in her voice made it clear that she had no patience for dilly-dallying, and also, that she didn't trust him. Murphy led the way and as he bent over to retrieve the PADD with his orders on it, he was aware of Torres crouching to examine the remains of his lunch.  
  
"You ate this here?" she asked.  
  
"Yes." Suddenly Murphy felt very, very nervous. "I was late and I didn't want to waste any time by going to the Mess Hall, ma'am."  
  
"What’s this?" Torres was asked, holding up the foil wrapper.

“Uh, my sandwich.” Belatedly, he added, “Commander.”

Torres wrinkled her nose in either disgust or disbelief, he wasn’t exactly sure. “Was it by any chance a cheese sandwich?”  
  
"Yes, ma'am, it was." Murphy was very aware of the silence in Engineering and of all of the eyes on him.  
  
"You brought CHEESE into a sensitive area!" Torres yelled. "Didn't you study the effects of cheese on gel packs? Don't you know that cheese has living organisms in it?" Murphy tried to answer, but Torres continued as if he hadn't opened his mouth. "Since it's evident you skipped this lesson at the Academy, let me give you a brief overview. The lipases, proteases and lactase enzymes in cheese hydrolyze the fats and proteins into their separate components. Guess what happens when those same enzymes interact with the neural network in the gel packs? That's right. The gel packs get sick because you've just reengineered their basic genetic structure."  
  
"Um," Murphy said, completely at loss for words. This all sounded really familiar. He could almost hear Professor Camembert's voice droning on about curdled milk, rennet, coagulation, and more importantly, the effect of bacterium on biological technologies. He gulped, wishing now that he hadn't dozed through most of that lecture. Given the expression on Commander Torres' face, Murphy didn't think a simple apology would cut it. He glanced around Engineering. The other engineers had diligently gone back to their tasks, but he had no doubt that they were still listening. "Commander Torres, I take full responsibility and I promise I won't ever bring cheese into Engineering again."  
  
"Damn right you won't! Or any other kind of food for that matter," Torres said shortly. She grabbed the PADD with Murphy's assignment orders on it from his hand and scanned it quickly.  
  
"I can start replacing the gel packs," Murphy said hopefully. "I don't mind working overtime to finish the job."  
  
Torres glared at him. "You are never going near the gel packs again." She handed the PADD back to Murphy. "Welcome aboard, Ensign Murphy. I've assigned you to scrubbing."  
  
"Scrubbing?" Nervously, Murphy tried to remember if scrubbing had been covered in his engineering courses.  
  
"Yes," Torres said. "It's your job to go over every single inch of the warp plasma manifolds with this."  
  
Torres produces a thin metal strip with fine bristles attached to the end. Murphy blanched. "But that could take days," he said without thinking.  
  
Torres glared at him. "Do you understand that your carelessness has put us behind at least a day?" She shook her head. "As if I didn't already have enough headaches to deal with! Now, get started."  
  
With a sigh, Murphy took the brush from Torres' outstretched hand. Not the way he'd anticipated his first day aboard _Voyager II_ would go, he thought sadly, as he headed toward the far end of Engineering. But he'd scrub Engineering so clean, surely Torres would be impressed with his diligence and give him another assignment in the future. His mood brightened and he got down on his knees. Yes, he thought, as he resolutely began picking the dirt out of the crack between adjacent warp plasma manifolds, he would show them all just how skilled an engineer he really was.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Seema


	32. Stardate 56965.4

  
**_Voyager II_, Utopia Planitia-_December 19, 2380, Stardate 56965.4_**  
  
PADD in hand, Janeway entered her Ready Room on _Voyager II_. It was the same size as the one she'd occupied for eight years, but the shape was sufficiently different to make this room feel slightly larger. In addition, it was set on the opposite side of the bridge than she was used to; on the original _Voyager_, this had been where the conference room was located.  
  
Ever since the fall term at the Academy ended she’d been putting in many long hours on the ship, overseeing the work, and even getting her hands dirty on more than one occasion. Chakotay had teased her that she might as well just move in to Utopia Planitia, for all the time she spent at home these days.  
  
But the long hours and attention to detail had been necessary. Janeway was dismayed by some of the construction mishaps and other problems she had encountered, starting from her very first tour of inspection. —She was very glad the engineers and other technicians who were involved in the construction work were not members of her crew. In her darker moments, she found herself wondering who was worse, the Starfleet construction crew or the civilian contractors. In a bow to the inevitable, _Voyager II's_ launch date, originally scheduled for the end of this month, had been pushed back to February. If she had to break the back of every person involved with the construction, Janeway was determined that there be no further delays.  
  
She shook her head as she recalled the saga of the conference room table. Due to various bureaucratic snafus, the delivery of much of the ship's furniture had been delayed by several weeks, and the conference room furnishings had been the last items to arrive. Janeway had had visions of having to conduct meetings of the senior staff while sitting on the floor. So she had been very relieved to hear that everything was finally here. She'd immediately gone into the conference room to see for herself. However...  
  
"What the hell is that?" she managed to say, eyeing the strangely shaped duranium object in the center of the room.  
  
"That's the new conference table," Commander Xiang said proudly. "Looks lovely, doesn't it?"  
  
"It looks," Janeway said flatly, "like some idiot with a plasma torch tried creating a sculpture of modern art and halfway through changed his mind and decided to chuck the whole thing."  
  
"Well, not quite," Xiang said, with a polite smile. "But it _is_ similar in conception to the neo-Cortical style on Regulus—"  
  
Janeway interrupted, "I don't care how artistic it's supposed to be. That 'table', Commander, is not an efficient design! Send it back and get me something I can actually use!" She stormed out before Xiang could say another word.  
  
The next incarnation hadn't been much better. Once more, Janeway stood in the doorway of the conference room, her hands curling into fists as they rested on her hips. Xiang eyed her warily. "Is something wrong with this model, Captain?"  
  
She turned her 'death glare' on him. "Yes, you could say that, Commander."  
  
"But this one is—how did you call it—more 'efficient', Captain. The U-shape allows for twice as many people to be seated—"  
  
"But what good is that when most of them are going to have their backs to each other!" Janeway cut in. "This is a conference room, Commander, not a dining hall. My people have to face each other in order to be able to converse!"  
  
"Uh, right. I'll get on it right away," Xiang said in a chastened voice.  
  
Table number three had been an oval shape. It had also been large enough that, once it materialized in the conference room, there was no room for any chairs. Or any people, for that matter. Clearly, someone had gotten the measurements wrong. Janeway had patiently explained to Xiang that while she liked the shape, this one wasn't the answer, either.  
  
Which explained why the conference room was currently occupied by a simple, standard issue rectangular table. Xiang had protested that it did not at all match the decor of the room, but Janeway had firmly insisted that she was happy with it.  
  
No sooner had that problem been resolved than another, more serious one arose. Janeway had come into her Ready Room early one morning to discover a puddle on her desktop. Her tricorder said the liquid was mostly water, with a few trace minerals and lipids. Glancing up at the ceiling, Janeway noticed a discolored area on the acoustic tiles and surmised that must be where the water had come from. She'd immediately contacted Engineering, but Xiang (who was probably as sick of dealing with her as she was with him) had told her she needed to talk to Maintenance.  
  
"There is no leak from the ceiling, Captain," insisted Lieutenant Sidney Strollers a short time later. "There can't be—this is Deck One. There's nothing above us except the exterior hull!"  
  
"There is a puddle on my desk, Lieutenant," Janeway said tersely. "Which clearly had to come from somewhere, as I don't think anyone is amusing themselves by transporting small amounts of water into my Ready Room!"  
  
"But there's nothing to leak _from_. That's a solid bulkhead up there."  
  
Janeway said, "What about conduits, plumbing?" At Strollers' blank look she added, "There has to be a water supply, or pipes of some sort running through that bulkhead, as there is a lavatory off of this room, and one right off of the bridge as well."  
  
"Are you sure?" Strollers said with a frown. "I don't recall this being in the blueprints."  
  
Janeway kept her temper with difficulty. "You can go see for yourself."  
  
"I'll do just that, Captain," Strollers said huffily as he left the room. Janeway looked after him in disbelief. After a few seconds, she got a handful of napkins from the replicator and proceeded to mop up her desktop.  
  
That had been a week ago. Since then, Janeway was happy—no, relieved—that no further 'mishaps' had occurred. She was finally able to devote herself to the all-important task of putting together her senior staff and filling vacant positions. Tom and B'Elanna had already accepted the posts for Helm and Chief Engineering, respectively. Janeway smiled as she recalled Tom saying, "After all her hard work, did you think B'Elanna was going to entrust this baby to anyone else?" B'Elanna had immediately replied, "'I could say the same thing about you, Helmboy."  
  
Those positions, as well as the appointment of Dr. Mark Lewis Zimmerman as Chief Medical Officer, had been easy to push through. Unfortunately, she then ran into trouble. Janeway hadn't realistically expected to be able to reunite all of her former crew on board this new ship, but there were some officers that she was adamant about having. The Starfleet Personnel Office, however, had other ideas. They had informed her that she could not get Harry Kim for Ops. Appeals to Admiral Hayes hadn't worked. Lieutenant Kim was unavailable, and moreover, there was another qualified individual that she was "strongly advised" to consider in his place—Ensign Auraan, who happened to be eighth in line for the throne of the planet Troyius. "Which means," she had raged to Chakotay that evening, "that out of the blue—if you'll pardon the expression—I have to take some overbred, arrogant aristocrat instead."  
  
And it still hurt that Tuvok turned her down once more for the first officer spot, reminding her that he had retired from Starfleet. Nothing she'd said had persuaded him; but then again, she really couldn't blame him for not wanting to be separated from T'Pel. If Chakotay weren't coming along on this mission as a civilian scientist, she wouldn't be quite so eager to go herself.  
  
No sense dwelling on impossibilities. Janeway went back to the roster of available officers and those who had applied for spots on _Voyager II_. "McGowan, James, Commander," she read. "Years in Starfleet: fifteen. Last posting: Second Officer, _USS Cornwall._" There was a recommendation from his current CO. "Ishtak, Lieutenant. Years in Starfleet: nine. Last posting: Deputy Chief of Security, Starbase Four. See attached references."  
  
Janeway stopped and stretched, trying to remember how many cups of coffee she'd had so far this morning and if she wanted another one now. The number of applications was staggering. There was no doubt that a posting to _Voyager II_ was considered a plum assignment.  
  
She was momentarily distracted by the feel of something cold and wet on the back of her neck. A second later, there was another one. Janeway looked up at the ceiling, just in time to see yet another drop preparing to fall.  
  
With a sigh, she tapped her comm badge. "Janeway to Lieutenant Strollers."  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Rocky


	33. Stardate 57000.1

  
**Security Office, Deep Space Nine—_January 1, 2381, Stardate 57000.1_**  
  
Ro Laren looked up as Michael Ayala entered her office. "Has the matter of what happened to Quark's replicators been resolved yet, Lieutenant?" she asked.  
  
"We've arrested the vandals," Ayala said with an exasperated frown. "It wasn't a case of deliberate sabotage, after all—just two unaccompanied human teenagers with too much time on their hands during their stopover. They're on their way to Earth, but their ship doesn't leave for another twenty-one hours."  
  
"Then give them sixteen hours of community service—and have them assist Quark with the clean-up. It will probably take at least that long to mop up all the plomeek soup off the floor of the Promenade." Ro smiled. "Just make sure those kids are on that ship when it leaves."  
  
"They'll get a personal escort, that's for sure!" Ayala exclaimed. "Considering how irresponsible they seem to be—even for kids their age—I don't know what their parents were thinking, letting them travel by themselves." He turned to go.  
  
"Michael, wait."  
  
Ayala stopped. "Something else, Chief?"  
  
Ro hesitated. "I just wanted to know, how are things going?"  
  
"Busy..."  
  
"That's not what I mean. Kajee Narel contacted me last night. She's worried about Luis." Ayala looked away uncomfortably. "She said you mentioned to her that Luis is still very quiet, very withdrawn."  
  
"He just needs time to adjust to all the changes in his life."  
  
"It's been more than a year since he came to live with you, Michael," Ro broke in, then wondered why she was continuing to interfere.  
  
"There's no time limit for this type of thing," Ayala said defensively. "That's what Ezri said, after her most recent evaluation. After everything Luis has been through, it will take him a long time to get used to having a family again, to know that his brother and I aren't going to suddenly disappear from his life, because of the trauma of the labor camps. If it weren't for Anne Carey, who knows what kind of shape he'd be in?"  
  
"I know all about Cardassian labor camps," Ro said quietly, "and I'm not saying you're not doing a good job with him. I just..." Her voice trailed off and she decided to switch to a more neutral topic. "I heard that Captain Janeway is getting a new command. Going back to the Delta Quadrant."  
  
Ayala nodded. "I heard from Chakotay that they're going to be leaving soon. He said a lot of the old crew have signed on." He smiled, a bit wistfully. "Can't say I'm surprised."  
  
She caught the undertone in his voice. "Would you have liked to go with them?"  
  
Ayala immediately shook his head. "I couldn't leave my boys."  
  
"Not this mission, then," Ro said, "but maybe there will be another one sometime in the future, one in which families will be able to go along. You know Raul would love it."  
  
"The chance to go exploring on a starship? You bet." Ayala grinned. "But with my luck, Paris will offer to teach him to fly. Though it could be worse—it could be Chakotay."  
  
Ro was just about to ask what he meant by that when a sudden frantic call came through the comm system.  
  
_"Lieutenant Ro, you'd better get down to the Promenade level at once! There's been a—"_  
  
Ro heard something crash, and then the signal was lost. She consulted the schematic on the wall and groaned. "It looks like it's coming from Quark's again."  
  
"Those damn kids!" Ayala swore. "I thought I told them—" The rest of his words were lost as he rushed out the door.  
  
Ro sighed. After ordering a full security team to report to Quark's, she called up the schedule of departing ships. Maybe there was an earlier flight to Earth.  


**(End Act 5)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Christina


	34. Epilogue--Stardate 57027.6

  
**Epilogue:**  
  
**Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco—_January 10, 2381, Stardate 57027.6_**  
  
Janeway strode quickly through the corridors of Starfleet Headquarters, nodding to the people she passed, but her mind was not on her surroundings. Admiral Hayes had ordered her to report to his office as soon as possible. He hadn't given a reason. Janeway had spent her time in transit from Utopia Planitia speculating, but she had been unable to come up with any explanation.  
  
The aide in the outer office rose as she entered. "You're to go in right away, Captain."  
  
"Thank you, Lieutenant," Janeway said. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the presence of additional security officers. Something was up—but what?  
  
The inner door opened. Hayes was speaking to someone seated in the corner of his office. "...the fact is, we don't know how much we can accept at face value—ah, Captain Janeway, you made very good time getting over here."  
  
"Fortunately, I was able to catch an outbound shuttle within ten minutes of your call, Admiral," Janeway said. At that moment, Hayes' visitor shifted his chair and she gasped in surprise.  
  
It was Tuvok.  
  
Before she could recover, however, Hayes said, "I'm sure you're wondering why you've been called in on such short notice, Captain."  
  
With an effort, Janeway turned her attention back to the Commander-in-Chief. "Yes, sir, I am." She paused, "I presume this concerns _Voyager?"_  
  
They were scheduled to launch in less than a month. Janeway wondered if Hayes was going to announce another postponement. There had been some last minute glitches in the new transwarp drive recently, but B'Elanna had been confident those would soon be resolved. But even if there was going to be another delay, why would Hayes feel it necessary to tell her in person?  
  
Suddenly, the answer hit her: Hayes was going to cancel the mission altogether.  
  
Some of her apprehension must have shown in her expression, because Hayes smiled and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "That's a fair assumption on your part, Captain, that this matter involves your ship. But it's a little more complicated than that." Hayes exchanged glances with a still silent Tuvok. "I called you here today to inform you that, in light of some information that has recently been brought to my attention, the mission parameters have changed." He turned to Tuvok. "Why don't you tell Captain Janeway what's been going on?"  
****__  
  
(To Be Continued...)  
  
  
  
****Credits:  
  
Prologue:  
October 1, 2380—Rocky  
  
Act 1--March through May 2380  
March 13—Soquilii9  
March 25—Penny  
April 5—Jamelia  
April 13—Cybermum  
April 19—Penny  
May 19— Soquilii9  
  
****Act 2--June through July 2380  
June 9—Julie  
June 15—Rocky  
June 22—Julie  
July 4—Penny  
July 9—Jamelia  
July 21— Soquilii9  
  
****Act 3--August through September 2380  
August 18— Soquilii9  
August 23—Rocky  
September 5—Julie  
September 8—Julie  
September 14—Rocky  
September 16— Soquilii9  
September 22—Julie  
  
****Act 4--October through November 2380  
October 1—Rocky  
October 2—Rocky  
October 8—Julie  
October 15—Julie  
October 16—Julie  
November 4—Julie  
November 15—Christina  
November 17—Cybermum  


****Act 5--December 2380 through January 1 2381  
December 2—Monkee  
December 11—Christina  
December 13—Seema  
December 19—Rocky  
January 1, 2381—Christina  
  
****Epilogue  
January 10, 2381—Rocky  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter written by Rocky

**Author's Note:**

> We would be remiss if we left off that all-important disclaimer: We do not own the Star Trek franchise or their characters. Paramount/Viacom/CBS has that distinction. However, we did come up with some fresh faces to join their lineup of Starfleet officers, crew, and aliens to craft a story that takes place after The Powers That Be decided to end the show. 
> 
> **Next Up: "Truth and ConseQuences" by Rocky and Christina: ** Q takes Janeway on an incredible journey. (Takes place in August, 2380, while Chakotay is away on the Sherman Planet dig.)


End file.
